Ignite
by The Dark Knightress
Summary: A fire was lit inside the soul of Dr. Marianne Lancer the day she met Bruce Wayne. Since that day, that fire has grown into a blazing flame. But now, he is a distant memory, lost in the smoky veil of what was their friendship. Upon his return he finds a very different Marianne, a very, very different Rachel, and a new vigilantress which threatens his security...Bruce/OC/Batman.
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer on Characters: **__Under no circumstances do I own Batman or any related characters. nvillians from Batman's Rouge Gallery. I do not claim ownership to any plots / technology / gagetry which co - insides with Batman. I do, however, own my OC's ( those who you have no recognition of in this story ), and would be greatful if you would consent me for use of them whether briefly, and / or chronically._

_**Disclaimer on chapter titles:**__For everyone's information, the titles to each of the chapters are indeed archery terms. They make no absolute relevance to the content of each chapter, they are indeed just terms. I used for the terms, so look them up if you like. They are legit terms, and though they may seem corny, ridiculous and/or absurd, they are archery. _

_**Disclaimer on medical jargon: **__By no means am I a doctor. I am, however, in nursing school, so I do know some medical jargon. But that does not mean I am always acurate. For all you doctors and / or medical professionals, please feel free to leave me pointers on information for medical instances. I am always open for learning. I am not perfect, as are we all._

_**Disclaimer on medical instances: **__All medical instances and diagnoses, patients and/or treatments are purely a work of imagination. No such instances are medically approved, all are researched according to the author's best abilities. Nothing from this work of fiction should be used for treatments and/or medicinal use._

* * *

Firestarter Series:

Ignite

First of the Firestarter Series. "Ignite" is the first installment, introducing a new OC character, Marianne Lancer. Ignite gives us snipette's of Marianne's past as Bruce Wayne's best friend, how her adoration for him has grown into love and passion, and how she overcame his apparent "death" after he left Gotham. It's based off of Nolan's "_Batman Begins_", as the entire trilogy is based off Nolan's film work. It also introduces newcomer vilgilantress "Reacher", an expert archwoman having claimed the grounds of Gotham to be her's by the 'first-come-first-serve' claim. She presents an ever challenging opponent component to Wayne's 'Batman' when it comes to wit and investigation-but she lacks necessary commutative skill to effectively and safely get the job done.

While drowning in their competitive banter, neither of our two heroes can quite piece together what is happening with the crime-lords of Gotham. It seems most of the big-name criminal's have been arrested but released to Arkham Asylum due to sudden 'insanity' pleas. During all of this Batman and Reacher find large shipments of drugs have come in off Gotham's water, and Dr. Jonathan Crane is subjective to being a suspect. That's not all the loose ends...Crane has a skeleton in his closet, one that Reacher meets personally and knocks at death's door with.

Meanwhile, Wayne and Lancer are caught up in a complicated dance of frustration tolling on their relationship. Marianne is fighting the feelings raging inside her about Bruce's sudden return, and Bruce is slowly coming to grips with the fact that Marianne isn't the kid she once was-she's sprouted into a beautiful, respectful woman with an opinion.

A mixture of romance, action, medicine and justice for the criminally intrigued. There are faith-based POV's thrown into a mix, very light but recognizable. Lot's of fluff and OC pairings. _Appearances by Gordon, Fox, Ghul, Dawes and Thompkins (Dr. Leslie). Also, other OC appearances include ER's infamous Dr. John Carter, only briefly mentioned. _Research citing will be added only after the epilogue is posted. Fan art can be found on the author's home-page.

* * *

**Dedication: **_To those who have felt less beautiful_

**Prologue**

_Thwack!_

Sawdust silently floated on the cool September breeze, falling to the still blades of grass in serenity. Above, an arrow stuck pointedly from the hand-painted target, stuck deep in place in the sack. Lowering her position, the girl hung her head as the breeze pulled at her braid hanging over her shoulder. She exhaled and looked up, pushing up her glasses, glaring at at the shot staring dauntingly back at her. A sliver away from the red, humiliating, bulls-eye.

Just a sliver.

The broad shouldered boy to her left smiled awkwardly, and rested a calloused hand on his friend's shoulder, which drooped in disappointment. Not once today had she gotten a straight on shot, not once out of the hundreds of times she had shoved that arrow into the sawdust bag. She jerked away her shoulder from his grasp, and rested the point of her bow in the soft earth. She placed both her palms on the other end and leaned against the bow, plopping her chin on the top of her hands.

"Great try, Marty!"

The name raked over her nerves like fingernails on their teacher's chalkboard. It played on her already tight nerves and sour personality, but she clenched her jaw and closed her eyes. Thankful that the third party was unaware of her disgust, she glared at her friend from the corner of her eye and muttered.

"Why'd you have to invite her?" she muttered, "She can't even pull the bow back!" her voice was a harsh whispera against the chilling wind, but that didn't matter. Her friend just blushed and shrugged a shoulder before selecting an arrow and feathering the fletching with his fingers.

He looked to her before fastening the nock into place on the arrow. "She's my friend, Marianne," he sighed. "It's fun for her...in some strange way."

Marianne rolled her eyes and lifted her bow, grabbing an arrow and slickly nocking it into place. She pulled it back and glared ahead at the target. "I guess." her shoulders strained for a brief moment, but relaxed as the tension of the bow burned into her finger joints.

Within moments, both shooters were aiming at their acquired targets. Bruce planted himself directly at the shooting line, Marianne a few steps back, due to her constant practice and unfair advantage. She anchored at her cheekbone as her aim fell into place, and she released a sigh. On an inhale, she closed her eyes and waited. She released the breath, and her fingers let the nock go. The line snapped against her wrist guard and jolted back into place, slack overcoming the equiptment and her muscles. For a second the fletching had tickled her fingers before it soared through the air and collided with the target beside Bruce's.

"Whoa! Cool!" Rachel exclaimed behind them.

Marianne and Bruce shared a smile. He turned, and Marianne stared at the target. Rachel had every right to be impressed; and she should. After 10 painstaking hours a week of practice and training with her father, Marianne had earned the right for such praise.

Bruce turned and situated his bow against the arrow rack, and began unstrapping his wrist guard. He tossed his finger guard to the grass and joined Rachel on her blanket, outstretched on the grass. Rachel popped up, smoothed her rose printed skirt with one hand and extended the other to Bruce. Something glistened in the sunlight before Bruce grabbed it.

"Look! I bet it's from Indians!"

Marianne's heart sank. She spotted the arrow head, charred from age and dull from lack of use. So she hadn't been impressed with Marianne at all. Bruce inspected the arrow head and shrugged a shoulder as if to agree with her. "It's probably one of Dr. Lancer's heads," he concluded intellectually, "From practice."

Rachel's lower lip pouted out. "It's from Indian's, Bruce!" Rachel announced arrogantly. "And it's _mine!" _she snatched it back from his hand and looked down at it. A smile stretched onto her lips, as something boiled within Marianne's stomach.

She tucked her bow protectively in her quiver, along with her blunt arrows. It fell into the quiver with a clank, and Marianne approached the two. She rubbed her arm, and then tucked her curly bangs behind her ears. A blush escaped her as Bruce smiled at her as if to welcome her to their group. "Let me see that, Rachel." Marianne snatched it from Rachel's hand and looked down at it.

"Hey!"

Marianne twisted it through her hands. Her brow wrinkled and relief overcame it. It was only one of her dad's signature favorites, a Nightra. It was the only kind he liked to use, which was fine. Relief overcame Marianne and slid across her nerves, releasing the tension that she'd bottled up in her stomach. So, her shooting was more impressive than Rachel's discovery.

"It's my dad's. He always uses Nightra's," she announced proudly.

Rachel glared and grabbed it brutally from Marianne's palm. Her nails raked against the soft skin, grating across it gashing it open about half an inch. Reflexively, Marianne pulled her hand back and gripped her wrist. "Ow!"

She looked down at her palm, a small red streak trickling down her hand. Bruce looked at this and then back at Rachel, and furrowed his brow. As if unaware of the situation, Rachel continued to look at her precious arrow head, as if it were gold instead of metal.

"Finder's keepers, losers weepers," Rachel chanted, "It's mine. I found it."

Bruce rolled his eyes at her childlike demeanor. "In my garden, Rachel?"

Marianne placed her hands on her hips and frowned. "From my dad's bow?"

Rachel's face paled slightly. "Fine. You can have it if you catch me!"

Without warning, Rachel took off. She brushed by a wilting rose bush, causing one of the dying buds to catch on her cardigan and tumble to the ground. Marianne blinked at stared at the small bud, ignoring the fact that Bruce was rushing after her. Marianne approached the bush and knelt, scooping the dying flower from the ground and letting it rest in her palm. She smiled and tilted her head to the side.

She then replaced it within the brambles of thorns and scrambling leaves. A smile overcame her at her act of kindness and she inhaled the smell of the other flowers, all alive within the garden; even in the chilly September air. All worries of Rachel and Bruce left her for a brief, fleeting moment.

"It was in my garden, Rach..."

Jealousy overcame her and flashed emerald across her ocean eyes. Heat bubbled in her veins; Rachel was getting a head start, she'd had one forever now! She was prettier, thinner, and smarter than Marianne was, but that did not mean she could steal away Marianne's best friend. Clenching her fingers into fists, Marianne bolted to her feet and took off around the corner of the house.

She followed their voices, listened to the echoes ringing out across the garden. For a moment, she lost track of them, and stopped dead in her tracks. The garden was quiet around her as both of their voices stopped at once. Marianne closed her eyes and let the hammering of her heart be the only sound she would listen to. Then she felt it, rising in her feet.

The ground trembled.

Her eyes popped open, and there before her, was a panting Rachel. Her one hand clutched the arrow head as if it were her last hope; her one last chance to best Marianne against Bruce. Marianne narrowed her eyes behind her glasses and watched as Rachel bolted towards her, defiant in her stance. Rachel whipped around her and collided with her back, pushing Marianne to the ground.

Both tumbled over the other before they stopped. Rachel squealed and material ripped. Marianne pushed herself up with her hands and looked up, finding Bruce a few yards away, in front of the green house. Rachel was laughing and Marianne scrambled to her knees, determined not to be the butt end of this sick joke raging around her.

"Finder's keepers..."

_CRASH!_

Both girls whipped their heads to look at the scene before the greenhouse. Bruce's body had vanished into the ground in a cloud of dust and wood planks dashing against the sky. Rachel and Marianne looked to the gaping hole in the ground and screamed, dashing towards the place where their friend had once stood. Tears dripped down Rachel's cheeks as they both stopped at the hole. Marianne fell to her knees and stared down at the muddy, dark place.

"Bruce!" Rachel cried.

Marianne whipped a finger towards the mansion, looking up at the frantic girl through her bangs. "Go get Mister Wayne!"

Without argument, Rachel bolted. "Mom! Mister Alfred!"

Marianne whipped her attention back to her silent friend beneath the ground before her. She dug her nails into the dirt and tried to find him in the debris and dirt and darkness. Panic seized her heart as she screamed into the blackness.

"Bruce!"

The arrowhead bounced off Marianne's sneaker, and disappeared into the blackened hole.


	2. Aluminum

**Chapter One**

_Tying the last of the string around the brown paper package, the greyed man stared at the box with a sly look dotting his features. His fingers tapped the face of the box, the bold ink staring back at him as if this were a contest. Something lept within his soul; a sense of relief; a sense of...power. _

_She's receive it within the week. The mysteries of the postal service were unknown to him, but what he knew was that it was unbelievably quick. Within mere days she'd get the package; within days she'd discover her destiny. The destiny which was sparked by Bruce Wayne; the man who'd spoken endlessly about her for these past years. _

_If she was as good as Bruce claimed her to be; if she was daunting enough; this would work marvelously. _

_Then he'd have two in Gotham._

_And two would be the start of the fire._

* * *

I shoved the last of my chemistry textbooks in place along the oak bookshelf next to the other long line of textbooks, a line of persperation making its way down the back of my spine. The bandana holding back my wild array of curls was somewhat damp from my tidying, but that didn't bother me. It'd become drenched once I headed down to the range for some long-overdue shooting practice later today.

Placing my hands on my hips, I looked at my work. My college textbooks lined my library bookshelves, all the different titles stirring memories of hard-work I'd paid in college over the past years. Most of them had come from Sydney; Ranine had been kind enough to have them sent over during my voyage back. A smile fell onto my lips as I remember the eight years spent pouring over those books in Australia's backyard; dust covering me from head to toe as Ranine drilled me on the dimensions of the human mind and the steps of the art of medicine.

I snapped myself back into reality, forcing my attention away from the bookshelf and back towards my apartment. Halfway unpacked boxes lined my kitchen, had overtaken my sofa, and dominated my living room, but that didn't matter. All that I needed now was my arrows, and that would be that. Some practice, and then back to the task at hand.

"No," I grabbed at my ponytail, "unpack. The apartment comes first, and then the range," I reminded myself. I nodded firmly and practically charged the next box, flinging it open and staring at the contents. Clothes. I shrugged my shoulders.

"Alright, into the bedroom," I chirped to myself. I looked over my shoulder where my recent addition to my apartment complex was staring at me with droopy, sad looking eyes. I smiled at him flatly, and made my way into the bedroom, thinking how lonely the poor thing must've been. Abandoned by the ones he depended on.

Alot like someone else I knew.

I dropped the box onto the bed and looked around the filling room. I'd done alot more work in here than in my main living area, seeing as this was the place I'd been pouring over my study texts for Boards the entire month. A stinging pain shot into my heart, replacing the sense of pride I had entered with. Tears poured into my eyes and threatened my cheeks with their presence.

This was the place I'd been in mourning for a month.

Brushing the thought away, I quickly left the room, determined to finish at least one box before lunchtime. I sat myself in the middle of the apartment, began opening another box when my buzzer went off in the kitchen. I groaned and pushed myself up, my Bloodhound letting out a deep howl before bolting towards the direction of the intruding noise. I shook my head and jogged into the kitchen and pressed the button.

"Fedex," he sighed, "Delivery for Miss M. Lancer?"

I chuckled. "That's me," I pressed the enter button next to the buzzer, "Come up. Second on the left!" I released the button and squatted beside my companion, who'd seated himself right in front of the door. "It's okay, Curley. Just a package. Good boy," I nuzzled my nose into his silky hide and rose to my feet, stretching my arms over my head.

_Knock, knock. _"Fedex!"

"Coming," I called. Curley began to go into hysteria, barking as loud as his lungs would allow him to. I shook my head and unlocked the chain, opening the door and practically having the brown paper package thrust into my chest. I hurried to accept the package from the boy, who turned on his heel and hurried down the hallway. "Thanks," I mumbled.

Kicking the door closed, I furrowed my brow as I read the return address. "Destiny?" I questioned. No return address, no country, state, zip code. I frowned and turned over the box, surprised to find the penman ship to be a beautiful calligraphy; one that someone might find on the Declaration or the Constitution.

_**"May the fire start within yourself. Dawn the night."**_

I snorted. "How poetic," I mumbled. Turning it back over, I set it on the counter and tore open the brown paper. Inside was a beautifully carved box, with a flaming arrow nocked in a elegant bow. This stuck a cord within me and my stomach filled with butterflies. A blush ran up my neck and blossomed onto my cheeks. I instantly looked at the intruding lock, keeping me from my 'destiny'.

Quickly I retrieved a bobby-pin and nail file, I knelt in front of my counter and looked up into the small, brass lock. Simple enough, but the size made it complicated. Carefully I inserted the bobby pin and felt around for the latch. Then I stuck the end of the file in and lifted. Turning my wrist, the bobby pin lifted under the latch it it released. It popped open with a click, and I set my items on the counter, then lifted the lid of the box.

"What on earth...?" My question was lost in the blaring ringing of my landline.

Jolting from my zone, I bolted into the living room and grabbed the phone. The ID read unknown, and I hesitated. I'd been plagued with prank calls and nagging salesmen since I'd arrived in Gotham, and I wanted nothing more to do with another. Setting the phone back on the dock, I glanced at the ID again and moaned.

"Fine," I muttered to myself. Grabbing the handset, I pressed talk and pushed it to my ear. "Marianne Lancer," I said hesitantly. I lowered to the floor and curled my legs up under me Indian style. Holding onto my ankle and picking at a familiar scar, I looked to the blankness of the black fabric on my Yoga pants.

_"Marty?"_ the voice sent a shocking sensation down my spine. It rattled in my brain, awakening all the feelings, emotions, and memories I'd buried deep within my conscious. Surprise it me like a load of bricks to the chest, and sent me speechless. I gasped as if something had flown into my throat and stollen my voice, and fell back against the leather sofa behind me. My head collided with the wood concealed beneath the leather and I let out a yelp.

Horror overcame me and my voice turned into a tremble. "B-B-B-Bruce?" I asked, astonished. I could barely hear myself think, much less speak. Impossibility twisted my brain into a pile of shocked mush, and overwhelming amounts of nausea hit my stomach and sent pounding messages to my brain.

Again, the voice spoke into the receiver. _"Yes. It's me."_

That voice...so familiar...

Without a second thought, I clicked the phone off and hurled it into the couch cushion. I let out a gasp and dug my fingers into the carpet beneath me and forced air down my throat and into my lungs. Heat overcame my body as sweat poured down my back. My eyes were stinging with the salty perspiration running down my face. This was impossible. Absolutely impossible. Some sick, demented, prank pulled by some psycho. My heart pounded in my chest and pushed blood rapidly through my ears, giving me a spiking headache.

I blinked hard, staring at the carpet. Then, sprining to my knees, I forced myself up to my feet in one push. Then, frantically searching the apartment, I spotted my purse sitting half-hazardly on the kitchen counter by the stove. I shook my head and forced thoughts to form words.

"No, it-it can't be," I stuttered, "he's...gone. He's been dead for...months," I whispered to the room around me, "Oh Jesus..." my ranting went into prayer, "Jesus help me." With a leap, I jumped the coffee table and practically scaled the room, reaching for Curley's lead on the table and then my purse as I headed straight for the door.

"Curley!" I barked, whipping open the door and thrusting my hand into my purse, fishing for my keys. "Time to go," I muttered. Opening the purse, I spotted the keys and yanked them out angrily. Jingling them in my fingers, I marched out the door and flipped the lights. "To the car."

Curley bustled from the apartment and stood beside me, tail wagging as hard as it could. I clipped the lead to his collar and we hustled down the hallway, my thoughts rapidly escaping my mouth in fragments.

"He's dead," I began, "Left Gotham. Been gone for eight years," we rounded the corner of the stairs sharply. Descended them ungracefully. "Wrote. Once. Just once," I patted my purse on my shoulder, "Alfred. The gravesight..."

I stopped before I pushed open the door to the complex.

"Alfred."

Bolting out the door, Curley hot on my heels, I headed straight for my Subaru. Whipping open the passenger door, I thrust my hand back into my purse and fished around for my phone, unwilling to enter the vehicle until I had it securely fastened in my hand. Before flipping it open, I read the little letter planted on the screen of my text inbox.

_You have one unread text message-Prof. J. Crane_

"Later," I mumbled. Punching my friend Rachel Dawes' number, I pushed the phone to my ear and jammed my keys into the ignition, giving a quick glance to my panting companion in the front seat. Biting down onto my lower lip with enough force to break the skin, I threw the stick into Reverse and slammed the clutch and gas, backing up in a blur.

Absentmindedly, I somehow got the car into drive. Rachel's voicemail sang back at me and I hit redial with enough anger to hurl the phone through the window. Pressing the phone back to my ear, I waited for the ringing to stop as I watched traffic and found an oppurtunity to pull out. Curley sat beside me, excitement radiating from his dog body. I slammed the accelerator and pulled out in front of an Explorer. Righting the car, I held the phone to my ear as the ringing suddenly cut out.

_"Rachel here-"_

"Rach," I barked at her hoarsly, "Meet me at the Manor. In fifteen minutes. Don't ask why."

She sounded socked as she replied. _"Marianne..."_

"You're not going to believe this."

With that, I end the call and tossed the phone into the cup holder beside me. Gripping the wheel with steel fingers, I glared at the road ahead and exited the freeway. Slowly accelerating, I pushed the needly up passed sixty miles an hour, the city slowly beginning to become replaced with the serene wildlife of Gotham's outer limits. Familiar roads and road marks flashed before my eyes. I'd driven this road countless times in the last few months.

Anger burned within my stomach. I felt as if I'd swallowed ten hot coals, and the fire was spreading through my veins. I could almost bet my blood boiled within my skin, causing my muscles to turn raw with tension and frustration. I pinched my eyes closed and then forced them open.

I drove for fifteen minutes, Curley ever diligent to be silent as I raved on. How on earth could Bruce Wayne be back from the dead? It'd been eight years, I told myself, eight years with only one communication point-which was seven years ago. I'd already graduated GCU, with a degree as a Physcian's Assistant. I'd been to Australia and back-earned countless awards for my archery. Life had went on, somehow, without him. Now it seemed it was crashing down around me.

Signaling, I slowed and turned onto the small road which lead to the Manor. Paved with not only the best of asphalt; it'd been smoothed by thousand's of guests; coming and going from the estate of Thomas Wayne and family. I guessed my family's vehicles had been coming here for generations-my own cars traveling millions of times up this drive.

It was groomed perfectly; Alfred still kept the drive beautiful, as usual. The blossoms trees were trimmed magnificently, the bushes cut to extreme precision. The asphalt was perfectly smooth, no pot holes or bumps along the drive. Tears welled in my eyes as I remembered the bicycle rides Bruce and I would take up and down the drive as children. Then the motorcycle cruises, and the dirt bike jaunts. I swiped at my wet cheeks before kicking the Subaru into fourth gear.

I roared down the rest of th drive, blood boiling again. A tension headache started at the base of my spine and stroked it's fingers around the back of my head like a spider crawling on its prey. I gripped the wheel with both hands, Curley's claws digging into the vinyl of my creamy colored seats.

I whirled the wheel right, my tires turning in the pebbly drive. I spotted pebbles kick up in the air around my car and heard the tinging of them hit the paint. I didn't care. My back end fishtaled, then righted as I straighted the wheel. Rachel's Beamer flashed by in a blob of white. Quickly jerking the wheel, I slammed the brakes and my back end came around.

I stopped, horizontal with the ascending stairway which lead to the front door. I barely missed a huge cement potted plant, and I whipped open my door. Practically shooting from the driver's side, Curley came barreling out with me and I kicked the door open. My Outback hummed quietly, and I bolted up the stairs. Curley roamed the grounds as if they'd outstretched their arms in a welcome to the Bluetick home.

I took them two at a time, heart hammering within my chest. I swore I could feel it beat out of my chest, but pushed the thought away. Blood pushed a course through my ears and rushed my veins, making fire spread over my skin. I could feel the heat run up my neck and settle in my cheeks-my lungs begged for air. My training denied them that right.

Jerking to a hault at the elegent porch, I stared up at the Victorian mansion. I closed my eyes, memories assaulting my mind. For an instant my heart told me to turn back-not to face the rejection and heartbreak awaiting me behind those doors. My head demanded that I go forward, to seize the mystery and earn myself the right to know. I looked down to my sandeled feet and wiggled my toes in anticipation.

Excitement rolled through my body like a wave.

Exhaling, I looked to the panting red colored Bloodhound who plopped down beside me. He looked up and just stared at me, adoration flooding from his eyes. If only all men where like canines; humble, adoring, loyal. If only.

On the count of three I pushed open the heavy doors, shouldering them open to allow my body inside. I looked up, to find Rachel sitting on the stairs of the foyer, looking up at the figure standing before her, back to me. Immediately she looked around him, and her eyes brightened at the sight of me. She practically popped like a piece of popcorn from her place and hurried by him, and as she approached, the sunlight from the windows showed tear-stains on her cheeks. She held out a hand to me to take mine in a squeeze, but I ignored the gesture. My eyes were locked on the figure across the foyer.

His broad shoulders were dressed in a simple, maroon colored t-shirt and black khakis. Ebony colored hair smoothed to perfection, wonderfully poised six foot two inch frame standing comfortably in front of the stair case. My heart pushed blood so quickly to my ears I thought I'd faint. He glanced over his shoulder and then turned around to face me.

I gasped. Rachel stood next to me, a hand on my shoulder. She was saying something in a whisper, but her words were lost by my surprise. I was fixated on the figure approaching me; small smile playing on his lips, piercing brown eyes so perfect as they watched me. My knees felt like jelly beneath me and goose flesh dotted my skin. I felt weak, and slapped my arms to my sides. Rachel removed her hand from my shoulder, and my eyes blurred over with tears.

He stopped about ten feet from me and looked down. I blinked, tears falling onto my cheeks slowly. He then looked up, smiled kindly, and raised his shoulder a few inches in an attempt to look innocent. His chocolate eyes twinkled, and then he squared his shoulders and smoothed his hair with his palm.

"Marianne." He said smoothly.

"Bruce." I shot back curtly, voice filled with icy venom.

He put one foot in front of the other and took a step forward, rubbing the back of his neck. A sob pushed up into my throat, and I pushed it back. My chest tightened, and my heart turned to a mushy organ within me. It even skipped a few beats, or so I thought. He stopped and I realized I was approaching him.

Stopping a few feet from him, I scanned his eyes with my own and a smile pulled at the corner of his lips. I furrowed my brow at this and then frowned. His eyes dulled, and then without warning, I raised my hand and struck him with a sharp slap.

His head turned, and then he placed a finger to his cheek. A small streak of red oozed from his jawline blaringly. My eyes shot to my hand, where my GCU crest on my graduation ring was facing my palm. That is what made him bled; that was his punishment. He deserved every sting of my strike; just like I'd received when I heard of his disappeareance. We were even now, and a sob erupted from my throat.

"I guess I deserved that," he whispered.

Twirling the ring back into place, my hands flew to my mouth and my shoulders began to shake with each sob. I tried to force them back, but they were too strong. My emotions ran through me like a whirlwind, tossing my mind to and fro as if I were on the ocean. His complexion; the red line of my strike, blurred behind saltly tears.

I whipped my arms out and flung myself at him, latching my arms around his neck and reaching on the top of my toes to tightly cling to him. His strong arms enveloped me and he rested his chin on my shoulder, and I buried my nose into his collar bone, inhaling the scent of his spicy cologne. Tears welled from my eyes and dripped onto his shirt, my shoulders racking with sobs. I could barely stand as I tightly held onto him in that moment.

"You came back," I whispered, digging my nails into his muscular back, "after eight years...you came back." I managed. I closed my eyes and forced oxygen into my burning lungs, "I thought I'd lost you..."

He squeezed me tighter and nuzzled his nose into my hair. His lips tickled my ear teasingly as he replied in a breath. "You'll never lose me, Marty. Never."


	3. Bowman

**Chapter Two**

"So, you're meaning to say you've spent all this time in _Tibet_?" I asked, wrapping my fingers around a steaming cup of Alfred's famous hot chocolate-made with my absolute favorite: condensed milk. The whipped cream swirled on top had long since melted into the rich goodness of the drink. Now, the delicious liquid soothed my aching throat as I curled my legs up under me as I stared-still in disbelief-at the man across from me.

He nodded and looked down into the mug of chocolate. "And other places. Bhutan. India a little. But mostly Tibet."

I nodded slowly and sipped my drink, swallowing the liquid and letting it burn a path through my frazzled nerves. "What have you been doing exactly? I mean, why didn't you come home? What was so wonderful that kept you away from Gotham?" I felt as though I was bombarding the poor man, but he did in fact owe me an explanation-he was my best friend after all.

He was quiet a long moment, as if debating whether or not he should tell me. The room was quiet between us; Rachel had stayed only a few hours before being called away to work at the DA office. I'd made myself at home in the den. Bruce had started a fire in the cold fireplace, which now crackled melodically and cast shadows over his complexion. He turned to gaze into the dancing flames, and I looked between the fire and him. Something in the back of my head told me his eight years away were not for leisure-he'd changed somehow, his persona-I just had no idea what had changed.

Yet.

I wiggled my chilled toes underneath me. "I thought you were dead, Bruce." I looked to the floor, my tone as somber as the statement I'd just made. A chill dashed up my spine as the memory of the certificate of death flashed before my eyes. "We all did."

He looked back at me and leaned back in his place on the sofa. He blinked, expression soft, then smiled slightly at me. Bruce chuckled and tapped the edge of his mug with his index finger. "That I never would have guessed," he rubbed his jawline, "you losing faith in me."

My head shot up. "I never once lost faith in you, Bruce," I sighed and set the mug on the sidetable with a soft clack. "I lost _track_ of you. There is a complete difference. Someone can only be gone so long before thoughts begin to roam out of control. After you never replied to my letters I'd began to think that you'd...preferred to be left alone."

He blinked at me. "You wrote?"

I nodded. "Mhm. Lot's of times, actually." I pulled my jacket tighter around me. "You never got any of my letters?"

Bruce shook his head. "No. I didn't have much communication with the outside world."

I gaffawed. "Really? Bruce Wayne, dropped off the face of the earth? No outward communications? Unbelievable." My joke went unappreciated and died in the air. I looked to the fire and tilted my head to the side. Warmth radiated through my body, and contentment settled in my stomach. Curley sat before the fire, snoring slightly; the excitement of the day complete with the introduction to a new person.

"But," Bruce added quietly in between sips, "I'd thought I'd see you married with kids by now." he looked to my left hand and then wiggled his ring finger. "No band?"

I chuckled and situated myself into the soft Persian furniture. I shook my curls and rested my head against the back of the chair. "Me? Marriage? No, no. I've spent my time in school, and on the range," I chuckled and twisted one of my brunette locks around my finger. "I was too busy to be romanced."

"That I don't believe," he added quickly.

I shrugged a shoulder, "Believe what you want, Bruce. It's true. I never once dated anyone while you were away. I kept myself occupied elsewhere." I pushed myself up off the couch and snapped my fingers. "Curley, up." The dog responded by rising slightly to his haunches and stretching out the sleep from his muscles. I smoothed my pants and bent to scratch between his ears. "I was too busy worrying about you and completing college."

He got up and followed me to the foyer. "So, there was no one?"

I shook my head. "No. Just friends," I said quietly. "You never answered my question."

He smiled and a chuckle escaped him. "Which ones?"

I smiled back. "The one about your activities in Tibet. Romancing any foreign women? Feeding the poor? Carrying on the Wayne name overseas?" I asked dramatically. My tone was meloncoly though; I reasoned it was the shock dying in my emotions. Bruce shrugged a shoulder and put his hands in his pockets.

"No," he said quietly, "I was..."

"Was...?" I continued. He looked away and I followed his gaze. It landed on the large portrait of Martha and Thomas Wayne painted at the top of the elegant staircase. "Hello? Bruce?"

He snapped his attention back to me. "Oh, sorry. I was...finding myself, I guess," he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

I rolled my eyes. "Typical Bruce answer," I looked to the grandfather clock. "But, hey. I'd better get going. My apartment needs some serious unpacking, and I have an appointment at the range." I opened my arms and he did the same, welcoming me in for another tight hug. "I missed you, Bruce," I said on an exhale. I closed my eyes and took in his scent, as if he'd be gone in an instant. "I'm glad you're home."

He chuckled and patted my back with a strong hand. "I missed you too, Marty. And it's good to be home. Gotham is where I belong."

I pulled back from him and smiled. "It's where we all belong, Bruce. Gotham is-like an addiction. Once you get some, you can't get enough," I touched his cheek with my hand and ran my thumb over the small cut I'd left. I wrinkled my nose. "Sorry 'bout that."

He waved it off. "I don't blame you." he took my hand and squeezed it. "I'll see you later, Marty. Be safe."

I shrugged. "Naturally." I looked around the foyer to see that Alfred had joined us, Curley awaiting the door to be opened for our departure. I turned on my heel and approached Alfred, opening my arms until I could take him in a hug. "Bye, Alfred. I'll be seeing you."

"And I you, young lady." he kissed my forehead. "Be a good girl."

I nodded firmly. "Will do. Keep him reigned in, will you? I can't be losing him again," I winked at Alfred. "Thank you, Alfred."

"My pleasure, miss." He kissed my hand and released it dramatically. He opened the door and stepped aside, allowing Curley and I passage. I made my way out onto the porch when a light, shrieking squealing pierced my ears overhead. I looked up to see a flittering, screaming black bat pulsating its wings quickly through the air around the banastal of the porch. I wrinkled my nose and shook my curls. "Poor thing. Has no idea what it got itself into," I shrugged a shoulder and smiled at the two men watching me in the doorway. "See you around."

"Bye," Bruce waved. I hurried down the steps, Curley bouncing around my until I made it to my car. I popped open the driver's side and Curley hustled inside, and I was about to slip in when I spotted Bruce and Alfred still watching me go. Before exiting, I wiggled my fingers in a good-bye wave and dipped into the car.

* * *

Letting the binoculars focus in on the figure below, he watched as she unlocked the hatchback window and placed the black bow inside, along with the worn quiver from over her shoulder. With a quick remark to the range owner, she saluted and jogged around to the driver's side door.

_"Is she leaving?" _the man on the other end of the cell phone demanded. Narrowing his eyes, he glared at the device in his hand from the corner of his eye and removed the binoculars.

"Yes, she's leaving," he replied calmly.

_"Where's she going?"_

"I'd assume she's going home," he added soothingly.

_"Is she onto anything? Do you know if she-"_

He sighed and rolled his eyes, turning away from the ledge of the building. "All I know is that she visisted Wayne this afternoon for a couple of hours," he scribbled something in an overly used composition notebook, "That's all my man could find out."

_"Do not interrupt me!" _he chastised, "_Wayne? He's back?" _the man questioned in disbelief. _"Already?"_

"Mhm."

He cursed on the other end of the line. Then he collected himself and sighed. _"That's fine. There is still time then. Do you have the itinerary of the shipment?"_

"Yes. Stored away for safekeeping; until a little later."

_"And the formula?"_

"Good and ready. All I need is a few tests subjects." he closed the notebook with a slap and slipped the pen into his breast pocket. "And those won't be too hard to come by."

_"Excellent. I'll leave you to it. Do not wrong me."_

"Oh," he replied with a chuckle as he made his way from the top of the building, "I assure you, you will not be disappointed."

* * *

Droplets of water hit the cave floor and echoed across the stone sanctuary, the trouble light and other light suppliers casting eerie shadows across the monstrous stone walls. In the deeper bowels of the cave distant shrieks of dwelling bats lightly rang across the expanse of natural room. The dankness of the place made it incredibly difficult to breathe, and the stench of mold, musky air burned one's lungs after short exposure. But, the true problem laid in the horrible _VRRRRRRR _of the grinding machine that Bruce was consistently using.

Alfred was busy unpacking boxes filled with the pre-ordered and "special delivery" black masks of which his charge had so secretively purchased out from under Wayne Enterprises. They'd arrived with the shipment of supplies this morning at the loading bay, where Lucius Fox was able to sweep them down into Applied Sciences before anyone had gotten suspicious of the new arrivals. The outcome of black bat-like masks was grim; the prognosis: unusable. The chemical balances in the masks was far too weak and unstable to be used in the manor Bruce had intended. So, they'd figured out the problem in the molding and had sent for a thousand more to be delivered tomorrow evening.

Now, bent over the grinding wheel, Bruce worked tediously on a small, bat-shaped tool. Alfred stopped his work and put on his safety goggles, then approached and looked over his charge's work. Bruce stopped and ran his finger over the golden metal, letting his fingertips grace the pointed edges of the gadget. Alfred dared to ask the next question, and did so carefully.

"Why bats, Master Bruce?"

Bruce removed his goggled and set them on the table, and then looked to his friend. "Bats frighten me," he replied quietly, looking back to the tool. With a flick of his wrist, the instrument went soaring and collided with a patch of stone about ten feet from their table. Alfred stared at the protruding object with interest and then Bruce smiled ruefully at the tool he'd dubbed the "batarang".

"And it's time my enemies shared my dread."

* * *

Carefully she removed the top of the box she'd stored hidden away in the secretive part of her closet, staring down at the black fabric so blatantly awaiting her use. For years she'd kept this here; out of reach, safe from discovery. The night had never been her ally, had never been an option. It'd been so long since she'd worn the uniform; bore the name of the Reacher's on her breast. She'd forgotten the power that had come with the mask. The power behind the identity she'd become so many years before.

She removed it from the box and set it out on the bed. She paced in front of it for what seemed like an hour, but in reality it was only a few minutes. She stopped, stood and stared at the menacing uniform before her and then approached the bed. Placing her hands on either side of the eye mask, she stared down at the faceless identity waiting for her to dawn. Closing her eyes, she exhaled and then looked to the ceiling.

"God, help me," she prayed.

Then, grabbing the mask in her fingers, she slipped it into place.


	4. Bracer

**Chapter Three**

Night had befallen Gotham and stretched its fingers across the sky, casting pinpricks of light across the deep blackness of space above the slumbering city. Like all nights; this place held its nocturnal creatures, perhaps the most dangerous kind to encounter. These creatures bore illegal grade weapons such as AK-47's, Uzi's, and .12 gauge's at free will. Around every corner men and women were dawned in ammunition with combat weapons as well-arsenals including machete's, long-blades, and some even nun-chucks. Gotham's underbelly had some of the most lethal forms of torture and the most frightening attacks. And they roamed the night like monsters; terrorizing whomever stood against them.

This night was no different.

He'd been outside the GCPD for almost an hour, scaling the skyscraper as if it were a rock wall. The suit he'd "borrowed" from Wayne Enterprises moved well with his body movements; roomy enough to be comfortable, and edgy enough to be intimidating. He flew through his scaling with ease. Dawning one of his masks from Ducard, he resembled the ninja's portrayed in fairy tales; and felt the power of stealth pump through his blood. He'd been longing for this day, waiting for it for years. It would not be complete without the full costumed affect, but that would come in its own time. For now, his suit and weapons would do him fine.

It had taken all but an hour to stake out the Sergeant's office where'd be alone and without backup. That gave Bruce the opportunity he needed to introduce himself. Looking to either side of him, he carefully balanced himself on the ledge of the building, crouching to his haunches to test the window sill for locks. It rose a few inches silently, and he whipped his attention to the dimly lit room. Unaware, the man was still at his desk, scribbling notes quickly on a legal pad in shorthand. Unwilling to look down at the staggering height, he used his legs to push up the window and slipped in feet first. Grabbing the top of the pane, he swung himself inside and silently rolled across the floor and froze, watching the Sergeant. He made no movement to recognize his presence.

Crouching, he approached the back of the chair quietly. The man suddenly pushed back the rolling computer chair and he panicked, jumping back a few inches and watching as the man shuffled his handwritten notes. He sucked in a quiet breath and held it, waiting for the man to turn around and ruin everything. When he didn't, he released his breath carefully and approached the man. Grabbing the device from his belt, he pressed a button the light in the room evaporated. This caught the Sergeant's attention and he straightened. Hand immediately reaching for his belt, the Sergeant called out quizzically. "Hey! Who shut off-"

Bruce pressed the desk's stapler to his shoulder and leaned in over his ear. "Don't turn around." He demanded with a husky rasp.

"What do you want?" Gordon asked quietly, both hands rising in the air slowly. Bruce smiled at this, pleased that his plan was moving along perfectly. Looking down at the man's gun, he reached inside the holster and grabbed it, holding it with a finger at the trigger cage. Twirling it, his grip fastened down hard on it and he whipped it over across the floor.

"You're a good cop," he began with a low hush, "but you're just one guy. Falcone brings in shipments of drugs weekly off the docks. What would it take to bring him down?" The question hung in the air, seeming to seep up all the air in the room. Sweat poured down Bruce's spine, and he made a mental note to talk to Lucius about ventilation.

Gordon straightened as Bruce pressed the stapler into the back of his spine. "Leverage on Judge Faden. A DA brave enough to prosecute wouldn't be bad either. A few straight cops like me would be a plus too." He tried to look over his shoulder slightly. Digging the tool back into his spine, he looked forward. "I'm just one man, 'member? Just who are you, anyway?"

He released some of the pressure on the man's spine. "Watch for my sign." He whispered with a rasp. He was about to continue when he heard something whizz by his ear in a quick _fwap!_

_Thwack!_

Startled, both men looked straight ahead at the intruding object. Bruce narrowed his eye at the strangely designed arrow. It was a short thing, with what looked like fiberglass fletching and was painted black with purple vines swimming across the body and into the white fletching. It stuck out of the door with a note hanging by a thread. He looked behind him out the window to the adjacent building, and saw a figure backflipping across the roof and disappearing over the ledge.

"A friend of yours?"

"No." he growled.

Then, whipping the stapler out the window, he began backing up a few steps. "Now we're two."

"You mean three," Gordon corrected. "If that's what I think it is."

With that, he backflipped, pressed his hands against the floor and fell out the window. He rapidly headed towards the earth and then fired his grappling gun across the expanse between the PD and the building across the street. The line collided and it pulled it taut, and then went flying across the air.

The last thing he heard from Gordon was a faint. "We?"

* * *

Watching the arrow collide with the door across the street from her brought a sense of satisfaction. A smirk fell onto her lips and she nodded to herself in accomplishment. Slipping the bow into the quiver on her back, she pressed her fingers into the cement rooftop and pushed herself backwards. Her feet hit the cement in an arch and she pushed off, the world a kaleidoscope of blurs as she made her way to the ledge of the building. The dizziness did not bother her, only fueled her on.

Stopping at the ledge, she did not hesitate to jump. Gracefully diving off the edge, she began freefalling from the top of the building, plummeting towards the earth. Adrenaline laced her blood and she righted herself, reaching for the flagpole to her left to stop her fall. Her fingers wrapped around it and she swung herself over it as if it were a monkey bar. Then, balancing on the steel pole, she reached for the crossbow and prepared a line-arrow. Making sure the arrow was securely tied to the string; she aimed to the building to her left.

Aim, pull back, fire. It exploded in a shot and whizzed across the air. It wasn't the most effective way of travel, but the more she did it, the better she improved. Granted, if there were perpetrators or gunfire she'd be seriously wounded; the procedure took all of two minutes to do. But, thankfully, there were none of the latter to worry about. Pulling the mechanism on the crossbow back, it began retracting and she leapt off the flagpole, falling through the air and making her way up the building before colliding with the brick and mortar.

Once to the ledge, she reached up and swung herself over. Checking her surroundings, she sprinted low across the roof's ledge and then checked behind her. She'd gone a few good yards from her firing point and had left a decent amount of space between them. She just hoped the man with the mask had enough smarts to stay away from her than to pursue. Something inside her gut brewed wildly and told her that he would indeed pursue her; this stranger with the same agenda.

If they even had the same agenda. She feared that they were two completely different people caught up in the same cruel city. She stood for justice, peace, unity. All she wanted to see was Gotham rise up from the ashes it had been buried in for so long and to see the rich give back to the poor. To see the poor preyed on drove her to madness. Crouching low behind an air conditioning unit on top the building, she checked her belt for a marking point to leave at the GCPD in a few hours. Hopefully by then he'd be gone and call it a night.

Then again, a part of her wished he wouldn't.

"Missing something?"

Gasping, she whirled around and threw her fist into the air, blowing right through her surprising target. Stumbling forward, she spun about again and found him standing a good ten feet away, crouching on the ledge. She glared daggers at him, rage flowing through her veins. This would earn her at least a good three hours of stealth training to bring up her skills. Straightening, she replaced the tracker and turned to face him, chest rising in falling in sudden surprise. Suspicion overcame her and drove her to ask the next question.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"Solace."

She snorted. "Highly unlikely. This is my city."

He stepped off the ledge and stood before her, at least a good two feet. His ski-mask was less than impressive, but his suit! She studied it carefully, taking in its structure and design. Triple weave by the looks of it; comfortable, flexible. It moved with his body well, though it seemed harder to maneuver than her own choice of clothing. Begger's couldn't be choosers, and she had to stop herself from asking where he _acquired _such an outfit.

"Wrong. This city has been mine since it was born."

A daunting statement, but one easily outmastered. She kept quiet and turned on her heel. "We'll see. I have as much rights here as you do. Not everyone is worthy to wear a mask." Slowly she reached for her bow and slipped an arrow between her fingers.

"So some might think."

With that, she nocked the arrow within two seconds and swung around, aiming the blunt at him and firing. He dodged it easily, but she took the few seconds to get a running start. She sensed his flight behind her and sped up a little, then threw herself forward into a cart wheel and then turned it into a backflip. Her entire balance was tossed as the world blurred, but her experience with the move held her firm. Quickly catching sight of the building's end, she stopped on her feet and looked over her shoulder. He stood, watching her for a moment and she tossed him a wink.

"Choose your allies carefully. And your enemies even more carefully," she then narrowed her eyes at him and knelt on the ledge, fingers pressing against the brick. "You do not want me as your enemy, new guy."

"My name is Batman. Keep it that way." He rasped. "And I don't know if I want you as my alley, either."

"Either way, be careful. Gotham is a dangerous place to choose your battles." She then looked down to her drop. "Nice suit, by the way."

Then, she pushed herself off and grabbed onto the drainpipe, quickly sliding down and spinning through the air like a bird. Within seconds she hit the ground gracefully and took off into a sprint down the abandoned alleyway.


	5. Blunt

**Chapter Three**

_"Nice suit, by the way."_

_He could've sworn he saw a wink twitch her eye before she dived off the ledge of the building, disappearing from sight. He heard her feet take off against the wet alleyway floor, running the opposite direction from the department. Waiting a few moments to make sure she wasn't coming back, he finally deemed it safe and spun on his heel. _

_Making his way back towards the ledge, he looked across the small space between the two buildings and spotted the violet and black arrow caught in the drain-gutter across the roof's edge. Taking a line, he swung it over his head and secured it to the ledge and yanked on it a few times. Finding that it was secure, he jumped off the building and within seconds the soles of his feet collided with the brick building silently. He climbed it high enough to finally be within reach of the arrow. Sweat soaked his ski-mask, and he reached up, freeing it from its inevitable trap. _

_Then, sliding the line, he met the earth again and then studied the arrow. This one was full size; but had the same color scheme as the other. Black body, white fletching, and purple vine print. His brow wrinkled behind the mask as he spotted the engraving along the body by the fletching end of the arrow. One word. Just one. _

_Reacher._

* * *

Morning found it's way between my blinds and penatrated the dark room around me, forcing my eyelids to burn with its attacking rays. My eyes flittered open and were welcomed by a sun-streaked room, rays of sunshine trying desperately to shine fully behind my blind. Groaning, I stretched my arms above my head and glanced at the clock on the desk across the room. Seven-thirty.

Forcing myself from bed, I flipped off the covers and shuffled into the kitchen. Pain sparked my joints awake as I reached overhead for the only unpacked thing in my kitchenette; the coffee pot. I messaged the crook of my arm, the joints in my fingers burning, as I started the pot. Yawning, I retreated into the living room and grabbed the tattered, butter-yellow, leafy paged book underneath my coffee table.

This Bible had traveled with me everywhere. To the Great Australian Desert, the hills of the wildly unmastered Outback, into the city streets on my first escapade. It'd stayed safely in a small pack on my most of the time during my journey; the only thing I was unwilling to give up from my 'old life' as Ranine had put it. The way I seen it; God was the force keeping me alive as I did this, so I owed him some time in His book.

I flipped it open to Timothy and read the entire first book, then got up and retrieved my coffee. Letting the warm steam soothe my aching nerves, I was about to curl back on the couch when Curley came bounding into the living area, ears flopping and mouth open as if to great me. I smiled and allowed the lug up onto the couch and began to pat his smooth coat and rub behind his ear.

"Everything go good, Curl?" I asked him innocently, "No intruders when I was away?"

He looked up to acknowledge his name, then rested his chin up on my lap. I smiled and stroked the dog, letting my mind wander to the night beforehand. All in all it'd been fine; I'd encountered no other incident's that needed intervention, and my redezvous with the newcomer had been-interesting, to say the least. My mind wandered back to him and I caught myself daydreaming.

He seemed handsome; even with a mask. His voice could've well been misleading to his looks, but I doubted it. He seemed brawny enough for a man, around six feet two inches tall, with amazing brown eyes. I couldn't get over that dark, raspy voice...the one that had grated my nerves so badly the night before, but made my chest tighten now. I shook the feeling away and reasoned that it was just my estrogen acting up into my emotions.

Finishing off the rest of my coffee, I retreated to the bathroom to get ready for my day. A burning shower took away the rough stiffness of my muscles and relaxed me completely. I dressed myself in semi-formal for my day at the hospital; a pair of black slacks and a lavender, cow-collared no-sleeved cashmire shirt. Pinning my bangs up with two bobby-pins, I allowed my curls to air dry as sauntered around my apartment in flats.

Curley watched me attentively as I readied myself to leave. Plucking a few things from various boxes; such as some photo albums and framed pictures, I dotted them around the house before leaving, giving me a sense of satisfaction that I'd somewhat unpacked. Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I said a quick good-bye to my dog and was out the door.

The hospital parking lot was busier than I had anticipated; people were smoking outside the ER, and ambulances where busily unloading their patients like bees returning to the hive. Frantic parents demanded answers from EMT's, mother's wailed as they saw their children rolled into the ER with doctor's and nurses rushing to complete the string of orders flying across the bay. Cars squealed in and out of the parking lot, pedestrians shoved and elbowed their way passed me as I made my way towards the ER entrance.

I rubbed my hands together as if I was in charge of the place. I quickly discarded my things to the bottom of the administration desk, I grabbed my stethoscope and looped it around my neck; grabbing some files and glancing over them. I looked up to a screaming patient; a child around the age of four clutching his wrist. His mother wrestled with him at the desk and barked at him to stay still and quit squirming.

"Dr. Lancer," the receptionist tossed me a pleading look, "would you mind looking over this case please? They've been here all day and frankly, their making the other patients restless." she turned on her heel and seated herself in the computer chair. "It'd make everything alot less noisy 'round here."

With that, she used her feet to push her chair across the seramic and flipped her hair. She picked up the phone and asked in a very deep, Southern accent. I shook my head and hit the button which seperated the ER from the waiting lobby and stepped through the air-lock doors. I extended my hand to the mother and introduced myself.

"Marianne Lancer," I said kindly. "what seems to be the problem?"

His mother sighed and rolled her eyes. "My son cut his wrist on a piece of glass. I can't get the bleeding to stop," I nodded and knelt before the boy, who was sniffling and crying and shaking. I rubbed his shoulder and pointed to his wrist.

"Can I see? I promise it won't hurt." I coaxed gently. "Only a quick peek." I smiled brightly at the boy and waited patiently for his response. He looked up to his mother and then back at his wrist and slowly removed his hand.

The cut wasn't very large at all, maybe one or two stitches. It didn't look too deep, only superficial and barely even opening the epidermis. I wrinkled my nose and raised my brows, then pushed up my glasses as if it weren't a big deal. I kept in consideration that this poor boy's world was crashing down around him at every angle. "It's not so bad," I shook my curls. "won't take but a minute-"

"Dr. Lancer," someone called behind me.

I rose from my haunches and slapped my knees, grabbing hold to either end of my stethoscope and pulling on it slightly. I raised my brows to Chau; the Asian woman who was the Chief of ER Medicine. I excused myself politely from the mother and son and approached her. "Dr. Chau."

She handed me a casefile and I opened it and she began scrawling out a prescription for Demerol. "I'm assigning you to the clinic-mobile," she began hastily. "It's that time of the month again."

Exhaling, I nodded. "Okay. Where am I headed today?" I began to walk with her down the hallway and we stopped in front of an exam room. I wrapped my arms around the case file and pulled it into my chest. "Anywhere worth going?"

"You're going to Arkham," she added, "you'll be assisting Dr. Jonathan Crane with physical's today. Apparently some of the inmates have been a little more violent lately and have some physical injuries that need tending to," she pushed open the door and stopped it with her foot. "you know Jonathan, don't you?"

I nodded in confirmation. "Yeah. We went to school together. He's bright, but a little strange. I think his mind his bigger than the rest of him-"

"-I'm glad you think so, Doctor."

I whirled around and blinked at the figure, heat dashing up my neck and exploding in fireballs across my cheeks. I pushed up my glasses nervously and swallowed the lump forming in my throat. Me and my big mouth sometimes... "Dr. Crane. Nice to see you again."

He nodded towards me and held his suitcase in front of him with both hands. "A pleasure, I assure you," he extended a hand behind him and bowed respectively. "whenever you're ready we can go. My man has a car waiting outside."

I smiled weakly and hurried passed him to retrieve my things.

Arkham was a dreary place; it was well suited for its inmates, that was for certain. It looked like it had crawled its way out of some horror novella; created by one with a sick imagination for the supernatural. It always sent shivers down my spine. Not only the building itself, but it's live-ins as well.

Once monthly-or sometimes twice, depending on the severity of the case-a crew of doctor's and nurses were selected by the County General's board to do volunteer work for the city down here at Arkham. Most times it was harmless check ups; the scientists on the facility kept their "experiements" very well sedated, so rarely where there ever times we had any difficulties on these outings. But, sometimes, the inmates just couldn't help themselves and brought hell in their wake.

Jonathan's car pulled to a stop at the main-gates. We were waved inside once we showed our passes, and Jonathan sat across from me where a very blank expression-as usual. He'd always been a quiet kind of man; he'd always kept to himself and never really spoke out in class. His strange obsession with the mind and phobia studies had pretty much exiled him from the student body of GCU, he'd been outcasted since day one. I'd always made it my duty to somehow acknowledge him in group study-and I feared he'd taken a little bit of a liking to me.

Which was fine. As we entered Arkham's main lobby I felt somewhat protected under Jonathan's power he had here. He was a well respected doctor of science in these walls; infesting the place with his work and his "life's plan". He was a skinny, dark-haired, weak looking man who had no intimidation to his physical body here. Any one of these men-or even one of the nurses-could easily snap his arm in two.

But; the intimidation of his mind...that is what scared the people into place.

We made our first stop to intensive treatment-which was at the second to the last floor of the Asylum. Crane explained that his presence during the examination with the "criticals" was mandatory to his study, and as soon as I was finished with my assessment he would leave me to my work. My work consisted of updating all the medical files on each patient I saw-and since this visit was strictly a PRN (as needed) treatment for the intensive treatment floor; I had much updating to do in the database.

Together we made good time with the patients, only a few needed to have x-rays done and on two I had to fill out a transfer document to have them taken to County for some castings. Head lacs, stitches, irrigations and exams. I did the easy stuff, tested the sexually active for STD's and sent the samples to the County Lab in the van. Overall our work took about three hours, which was fine. I'd have a boatload of paperwork to do later that evening-before my next outing.

"Thank you, doctor," Jonathan thanked me after the procedure room was re-stocked and tidied, "you make quick work. And most impressive. Almost as good as your college practice cases."

I gave him a fake smile in return. "Thank you, Dr. Crane. I'll have the copies of the files faxed over from the ER. Have your guy watch for them," I explained. Then I handed him the stack of prescriptions he needed to have filled. "each of these should be put in today. It's unlikely they'll have them filled, should be sometime tomorrow. None of them should interfere with the medicine they're receiving-"

"-Or my-"

"-Or your work," I added inclusively. "I'd better go. I have alot of charting ahead of me, and the hospital will be missing me. Call me if anything changes, Dr. Crane."

"Again; thank you, Marianne."

I nodded and forced a genuine smile to the man. "You're most welcome, Jonathan."

"I'd escort you to the elevators but I'm afraid I'm running a little behind today. Think you can find your way?"

I nodded. "I'm sure I can."

With that, I departed and headed towards the elevator. I passed by a few bulky looking security guards and offered them a pretty smile, but they just hurried on and continued hauling whatever cargo they were carrying in huge boxes. Puzzled, I wrinkled my brow and pressed the elevator's button.

Then, something shuffled to my left. I looked down the darkened hallway and saw nothing but inky blackness. I furrowed my brow and stepped closer into the dark veil draped across the hallway and let my eyes adjust to the scene. I heard nothing move, but as I squinted my eyes, I swore I saw just a sliver of light farther down the hallway. Underneath a door perhaps?

"Miss?" I turned quickly around to see the security guard staring at me awkwardly. He lifted a brow and pointed towards the elevator. "You okay?"

I nodded and curtly hurried by him, tucking some of my curls behind my ear. "Yeah. Thanks." I entered and the doors closed, sealing the man's strange look from me. Leaning against the elevator wall, I humphed.

Arkham would need some further investigation.

* * *

Letting himself drop from the pull-up bar, Bruce reached for the towel hanging half-hazardly over the back of the chair pushed up to the workbench, where'd he'd been meticulously cutting his beloved batarangs all morning. Alfred had insisted on going back up to the Manor through the elevator shoot for lunch, while Bruce had stayed behind to start his extreme workout.

He'd relayed the incident last night to Alfred, and the newcomer as well. Alfred had just raised his brows and continued on tidying up the cave after his master. Bruce concluded that Alfred had the same thought about the new female vigilante. Though unknown to the outer world, she seemed highly qualified and dangerous; a mix Bruce was afraid could run rampid through the city.

His first thought was of Marianne; her passion for the bow and arrow taken to extreme levels. It wasn't beyond her to take her skill and bring it to the bettering of Gotham. She was capable, he knew that much, and she was determined to see Gotham righted after so long. But, he'd quickly tossed the idea from his head. Marianne was far too...mellow for such a job. The woman was a doctor; she lived to serve in healing, not in destruction. He knew her too well to think she'd take up such a risky "other life" and throw her dream of medicine to the stars. It wasn't like her to be so...irregular.

He seated himself at the grinder again and put on the goggles, letting his bare skin dry in the dampness of the cave. It brought a soothing to his conscious, being here in the dankness; smelling the musk and breathing in the earthy air. He felt complete here; at peace and serene. Something he hadn't experienced forever. He began to grind another batarang at the wheel when the figure from the night before came crashing into his thoughts.

Her skills outweighed her appearance, that was for sure. He had noticed her most intriguing feature was her bow and arrow; far more elaborate than her costume itself. Her bow was black colored, with slightly curled points facing inward and white vines racing up the titanium. At least he guessed it was titanium-probably the same stuff his suit was made of. Her costume though was lacking; probably a last resort in comparison with her bow. It recalled what her clothing consisted off, or at least tried to. His meeting with her had been so brief and aggrevating that he hadn't really paid much attention to her body-only to that of her eyes.

If he remembered correctly, it was a simple jumpsuit; black, he recalled. He believed her boots had been somewhat military grade with a twist: they had been thigh-high with no heel to them, just standard boot, like he himself wore. It was hard to remember if she had a utility belt; he faintly recalled something strapped to her upper right thigh-probably a knife case if nothing else. Her gloves had been the same style as her arrows; black with purple vines, and they were elbow length.

What he knew for sure is that she'd let her wild curls fall around her face from her ponytail, fiercly adding to her deep, ocean colored eyes. Eyes that were hidden behind a purple domino mask, casting sharp points down her cheeks and onto her forehead. But they were striking, strong eyes nonetheless that held power, determination, and warning to them. He blinked and tried to forget her face-her fierce eyes, her...childish wink. At least he had some dirt on her.

She was a woman afterall, and he was very good at playing the game women liked to play.


	6. Crest

**Chapter Five**

"My shipment needs supervision."

The heavy-set man sitting across the desk rubbed his knuckles against his faded leather jacket and then rolled his eyes. Leaning forward, he shook his unkept, striny hair and smacked his lips together. "I don't do drugs,"

"These aren't drugs...they're pharmacutical," he snapped back with frustration, pulling a long draw on his cigar. "And besides, you will when you hear how much I'll pay you."

"How much are we talking?" he asked, interest sparking a greedy light in his eyes.

The man at the desk chuckled and nodded slowly. "Does four zeros mean anything to you, Flass?"

"It does now."

* * *

It felt good to have the entire effect of his persona out in the open; this was his debut, this was his "grand opening". Everything he had worked for, everything he had _bled _for, was leading up to this very moment; a moment of strength, power and...influence. It was time to make the predator's the prey; to level the playing fields. It was time to taste the sweet revenge he'd longed to taste for so many years.

The cape alone, even though the lightness of the memory cloth didn't add much weight overall, made the suit grow heavier with his new onset of weaponry. He'd picked up a few little things along the way-some tracing devices, more batarangs, and a wonderful new set of starlite goggles he'd built into the cowl.

The cowl; the last piece of the puzzle added to his persona. It was as menacing as he'd dreamt. The blackness added to its intensity; the mystery behind the mask completed the enigma of this "other life". He'd finally pieced it together; such a long jump from a ski-mask to a harsh, terrifying, defining one! He truly was-and felt the part-of his counterpart. The one that would strike terror into the souls of those he encountered: Batman.

He'd played around with the cowl and the cape for a little while before actually dawning the night-they worked wonderfully. He'd never tasted so much freedom to be daring, so much power to be everything he wanted but remain enclosed in the secret of his identity. It brough a rush of adrenaline to his blood which exploded ideas into his head. He truly could do anything he wanted now that he was concealed. He could leap of buildings without a second thought, baffle headlines with the nagging paparazzi at his front door. He, in essence, could be invisible.

But, that didn't mean much now. Hiding in the shadows and jumping huge boxes didn't make any difference in his egotistical mind. Actually, his pride was quite wounded here; having to be hidden so early in the game and wait patiently for the opportune moment. He had always hated the waiting part of the game; Ducard had even sensed that. Though Bruce had followed all the proper steps and passed the "test", it still didn't change his outlook: time was lost in waiting and stalking.

Finally he found a decent place overlooking the docks; high above the ground and overseeing the entire operation. He watched the men hurrying around the platforms, marking the containers by knifing long blades into the steel and making scratch lines. Others guarded the operation with 47's and Uzi's, carefully watching the street and sometimes looking over into the bowels of the darkness in case of any interruptions. But, what he'd noticed was the most puzzling part of this entire scenario was the classy, distinguished looking automobile overlooking the place. What on earth was an aristocrat doing down here in the slums of the docks, watching over a bunch of men moving and marking crates?

Very rarely were big names reported at the scene of their crimes; most liked to stay in their clubs and bars and fondle the women on the homeland. They prefered their work done by hired goons; desperado's that needed money to feed their families, pay their rent; stay alive. Usually they had one or two trusted right hand's to oversee the worker's for them-rarely had he even heard of a case that the hit-man was reported at the scene. Only once had he ever seen an underdog hot-shot arrested while undergoing an operation. That had been many years ago in his youth. He doubted it had even happened again in recent situations.

It didn't matter. That car held someone who was in charge of the entire scene. That person was of influence; importance to the justice system of this city. He had a voice the people would listen to, a voice that held an opinion, an outlook...a fear.

Hopefully he was afraid of bats.

With a _crack_, one of the containers opened and the men went to work. They began moving boxes and smaller crates of items he couldn't identify. He used his cowl's magnification setting to zoom in on one of the men. The box was marked fragile and held a classification title, but that was it. No name of industries, companies, manufacturers, nothing. Narrowing his eyes behind his cowl, suspicion overcame him. Something wasn't right.

He decided to change positions. Silently moving through the lighting structure and ramps of the docks, he managed to get closer to the important vehicle. The back passenger doors swung open and out stepped a familiar figure, which froze him where he stood.

Carmine Falcone.

Making his way to the edge of the shadow, he pressed his fingers into the ramp beneath him and leaned forward to hear the conversation already underway. Not surprisingly, Flass was the man to speak first, a brown teddy bear in his grips.

"...so the bears go straight to the dealers?"

Falcone answered with disgust. "And the rabbits go the our man in the narrows."

"...same drugs though, right?"

Carmine nodded and grabbed one of the rabbits and tore the head off, tossing it aside and then digging his fingers into white stuffing, he removed a small package of unlabeled contents. It sparked alarm all through his body, and he blinked, paying definitive attention to the package in Falcone's hand. "Ignorance is bliss, my friend."

Without any further conversation, a rattling a few containers over caught their attention. Flass immediately drew the M9 from his holster and pulled back the hammer. Tossing the bear inside Falcone's car, he looked to the guards already hustling to investigate. He then gave Falcone a warning look and gestured with his head to the car. "You'd better bail. If there's problems, I'll let ya know."

Carmine nodded and slipped back into the car, taking the rabbit and its contents with him. Flass closed the door with a thump and the hustled to investigate with the rest of the crew. He ordered the other guys to hurry up the project and haul tail to get out of there. A satisfying smirk came to his lips from in the shadows. These guys were scared silly, and they'd pay dearly for their lacking skills of security.

He came to realize he'd better go investigate himself. He really didn't have much time to play with the idea of cops jeopardizing the entire scenario; he'd scare them off and scare them good. Which was fine; he liked to work alone and without publicity. With a careful leap, he hit the ground and took off running throughout the mess of containers, careful to take his corners carefully.

He then jumped and grabbed the edge of the container and pulled himself up. He quietly made it way to the opposite edge and found to his pleasant surprise, two of the thugs both armed with Uzi's walking back to back and slowly making progress to the area of the intruding sound. Both of the men were younger, late twenties, early thirties at most. Shockingly both of them were trembling and very pale, even in the poor lighting. It almost made him want to laugh.

So this is what revenge tasted like. And it was sweet. So very sweet.

They were easy targets, one's so easy that he did not want the opportunity to escape him. He grabbed two of his freshly ground batarangs and whipped them across the expand, where they crashed into the light fixtures with _skishes _before falling to the ground with light _tunks. _Crouching from his position, he was about to strike one the first one, who'd bolted ahead, when out of nowhere the figure appeared on the scene; familiar as she was.

There she stood, unarmed, before swinging her body around and colliding her heel with the man's jaw. Before she had any further attacks, the other man whirled around and fired his Uzi at the intruder who danced behind the crate and drew her bow. He watched her silently as she drew back and anchored, wild brown curls dancing around her face in the breeze. She conquered her breath expertly and waited for the right moment before releasing the arrow.

It crashed into the ramp overhead and the man whirled back around, back to her. Without waiting another moment, he decided falling in on the little party would be a perfect entrance and tactic. So, he hurled himself off the building and positioned his feet to collide with the man's ribcage. In a flashing moment he was ready, and then in a burst of speed and anger he disappeared, the black jumpsuit and quiver of arrows the only thing he recognized before colliding with the earth.

Skid, correct, push off container. In a moment he was righted and taking in the scene before him. She pinned the man beneath her and said something quietly, then slammed her fist into his temple before rising off of him. Taking the Uzi in her hands, she quickly disassembled the weapon and tossed it from either side of her. Frowning, she turned on her heel and approached him, sweat dripping from her hairline and staining her creamy colored skin around her mask. Stopping within a few feet of him, she looked to the ground and knelt, picking up one of the golden imprints he'd so quickly disregarded. All he could do was scowl at her as she turned the object in her fingers.

"Thanks for the distraction," she mumbled and flicked the weapon at him. He caught in instantly and replaced it in his belt without taking his eyes off her. "but a distraction nonetheless. I thought I told you to be careful."

"Coming from the one who almost got herself shot." he snapped back at her darkly. She was not hindered and outstretched her hands to either side of her and tilted her head to the side, as if proving a point.

"Do you see bullet holes? I'm bullet-free, thank you very much." she scowled right back at him. "I think you've had your fun. Now leave."

He said nothing and just watched her. Her scowl turned into a glare and she spun on her heel and began walking away. Reaching behind her, she grabbed her bow and an arrow, then quickly drew back and fired it into the container across from the unconscious man. She looked over her shoulder at him and replaced the bow. "I work alone. If you don't leave, then I'll make you." she said hotly, "This operation isn't big enough for two. And I have other engagements elsewhere."

"Highly unlikely." he said back.

She spun to face him and then offered him a small smile. With a burst of speed, she reached down to her thigh and then whipped her wrist, and she disappeared into a cloud of purple dust, which swirled around the air with mystery and stealth. When it vanished he saw and empty spot, and sighed heavily. So, she was good with pellets, that was fine. But that wasn't what caught his attention.

It was the manish screaming that did.

Within and instant it was gone and he bolted towards the area, long since abandoned by the workers and guards. He stopped when he saw her ontop of the car, Carmine Falcone in her grips. She spotted him and gritted her teeth in a growl and released the shaking man, him tumbling down the back of the car and then smacking against the cement with a groan. She stared at him a moment and then grabbed another smaller arrow from her quiver and whipped it towards the man as if it were a javelin.

"I suppose I'll see you around," she growled.

Then, with no other word, she backflipped off the car and took off around the corner of a container. She left him with the credit, the publicity, and the opportunity. He approached Falcone and grabbed the man's collar, sneering at him and waiting for Falcone's reaction.

"Who are you people?" he moaned.

"I'm _Batman_." he hissed. Then he jammed his fist into the man's temple and he went limp.

This wasn't the game he wanted to play.

* * *

Finally a safe distance from the loading yard, she stopped running and fell against the brick wall of an alleyway. Panting heavily as sweat streaked down her face, she reached for the zipper to her jumpsuit and pulled it down, exposing her skin to the cooling weather of the chilling Gotham night. The coolness stung her blazing skin, causing relief to flood her veins with ecstasy. Resting her head against the rough brick, she swallowed hard and slowly put her hand inside of her jumpsuit. She pressed it against the affected area and and her other hand flew to her mouth to muffle her scream.

Pulling back her hand, she glanced down at the leather and saw the oozing substance in her fingers. Rubbing them together, the substance moved with slickness across her glove and the penetrating smell punctured her senses with burning reality. She groaned and looked at the purple vineage rolling up her gloves. They were discolored with scarlet warning and she winced, trying to cool her frazzling nerves.

In anger, she whirled around and slammed her fist into the brick wall.


	7. Compound

**Chapter Six**

Managing to stumble secretively through the streets of Gotham proved somewhat successful for Reacher. She managed to stay somewhat in the shadows as she crossed the city, and thankfully she'd been able to control some of her bleeding with a bandange "borrowed" from a nearby drugstore. It'd been an easy lock to break; a simple Guard-All commerical brand. She'd left a twenty behind in place with the opened box and signed it "R".

Leslie Thompkins didn't live too far into Gotham's Narrow's; her clinic was right at the skirts of the wasteland. She'd traveled many times down this place in her youth; her passion for medicine was fed here thanks to Thomas Wayne's many lectures and tutorial's. Leslie had been the first person her father had recommended to volunteer for; and volunteer she had. Most of her freshman year in college she'd spent her time in Leslie's office, practicing sutures on oranges and pig's hooves. Leslie had drilled her hard in the basics of medicine and pharmecutical drugs. It was with her that Marianne Lancer truly found the courage, strength and desire for medical school.

Thankfully the chilly night had suspended rain hopefully until tomorrow morning, making the journey to the doctor's abode somewhat easier and warmer. Reacher was dripping with her own perspiration by the time she'd managed to get into the Narrow's, and even then she was barely standing. It was difficult to dodge the people's stares, glares and curiosity; and some even their approaches. She'd just been able to manage to duck into the shadow's and hazily disappear before their eyes. Reacher didn't have much time to sneak around; her blood was dispersing from her body faster than her heart could replenish it.

By the time she'd reached Leslie's clinic, she was struggling to stay conscious. She'd managed to shakily fire a grappel into the darkness of the roof and retract herself up. Stumbling across the shingles, she was able to carefully release the window above the back door and slip her body inside. She moaned somewhat loudly as her abdomen bent for her arrival, her wound sparking with fire and sending a coursing pain up her spine. It felt like a firecracker had exploded in her belly and sent her enire body into flames. She bit down hard on her tongue and dropped into Leslie's back porch, pain spiking into her belly. She collapsed on the rug and clutched her side, wheezing for breath.

A light flicked on in the kitchen. There came Leslie, scuffling through the kitchen, and much to Reacher's surprise, a Remington at hand. Reacher held out a blood-stained glove to her to stop the mad-woman, and gasped for breath as she fell forward, catching herself with her good arm. "Leslie..." she managed.

"Dear God," the woman gasped, tossing the Remington to the side where it thumped onto the rug in front of the washing machine. She rushed Reacher and dropped to her knees before the woman and gently helped her onto her back. Reacher closed her eyes and forced air in with short gasps of breath, palms pressing into the rug and fingers digging into the shaggy softness beneath her. Leslie reached for the round zipper pull and tugged it down, exposing Reacher's breasts and bloodied, discolored abdomen. "what have you done, girl?"

"Gu-nman," she sputtered, "docks. Batman was there..." she trailed.

Leslie pushed herself up off the floor and huffied away. Reacher tilted her head back against the floor to watch the woman, and she closed her eyes. Leslie reappeared and knelt down again, slapping her palm against Reacher's cheek and forcing her awake. "Don't go to sleep just yet, girl! Who is Batman?" he inquired. She frantically removed Reacher's glove and tossed it into her lap, then forced the needle into her vein and looked into her eyes. "Who is he?"

"I'm not su-re," she gasped as the medicine immediately began to travel her bloodstream and affect her senses, "Lidocaine...?"

Leslie nodded. "A friend?" she asked, removing the bandage from Reacher's abdomen, "Or a foe?"

Reacher breathed deep, senses beginning to haze deeply. Darkness began to spot her vision, and she fumbled for Leslie's hand. Leslie immediately took it and squeezed it and looked to Reacher's face. For a moment his pointy ears and striking eyes flashed across her mind, and she gasped out the sentance. "Let's pray, a friend."

"Okay, Marianne. Okay."

* * *

He followed her as far as the Narrow's and then stayed behind a few more yards after she'd slipped into the shadow's and looked over her shoulder a few times. So, she was at identifying a tail, too. She had many skills he'd underestimated. He'd have to be much more careful about his approaches with her; she was not stupid. Indeed, she was wise; but he noticed she was lacking in hand-to-hand. That could be a weakness he would be able to prey on.

Her statement had been false, that was for certain. As soon as she'd said it he knew she was injured; the wa y her eyes squinted somewhat behind her mask as she raised her arms indicated the injury. Also he'd compaired her run to their first encounter; somewhat lacking and in favor of her left side. She was wounded, and she was wounded good. Something flooded through his stomach, but he couldn't place it.

She was obviously somewhat harder off than he was; her suit was _not _Kevlar or bullet resistant; much to her disadvantage. Her most effective tools were obviously her arrow and bows; she'd most likely spent her budget more on her tools instead of her outfit. He frowned upon that instantly; one should protect oneself before protecting others with tools and weapons.

It was interesting-and intriguing-how she'd managed to keep the people at bay through her stumbling upon the inhabitants of the Narrow's. He was impressed she was able to navigate her way through it with speed, precision, and authority. Also, she'd kept her persona well hidden from their sight; she made appearance to the public only when necessary, but kept her bruised pride concealed without darkness. He'd followed her from the rooftops, and then had taken it to the shadowy alleys when it was no longer acceptable. She'd somehow managed to sense him and had ducked away for good; but her small, almost unidentifiable trail of bloodlets kept him on her.

Now, standing before the Thompkins Medical Clinic, he managed to scope out the building farely well. It was a small, cottage looking thing, warn and run-down from disrepair. It was a two-story building, the above floor the housing facility of Leslie Thompkins, the lower the clinic itself. From the slightly opened window above the back door, he figured she had somehow managed to get up there and slip inside-leaving her work halfway undone, he noticed.

He recalled his meetings with Leslie. Brief, unexpected, and brutal. She was a fine, hard-headed doctor; stuck in her ways and beliefs. She disregarded his work as nothing more as criminal, though he tried his best to prove her otherwise. She helped him, though, insisting that "billionaire's don't fight" for the rightness in the world; they buy it. He quickly defended himself as something more than just Bruce Wayne; as a new someone here to say. She'd silenced her opinion and had helped him without complain since then.

Jumping onto the porch, he swung himself up to the window and looked inside. Immediately the blood stained rug by the descending staircase caught his attention and blared a message to him. Kneeling, he felt the largest blood spot and removed his hand-still wet. He rubbed the ruby substane between his fingers and then looked ahead, to see Leslie standing before him, terry robe stained and stringy grey curls laying limply around her face. She looked exhausted, and her hands were unwashed; bearing a scalpel and cup of coffee in the other.

"You hurt too?" she croaked after the steaming mug left her lips, "Or did you just come for a visit?"

"The girl," he rasped, "is she alive?"

Leslie nodded. "Quite. She's banged up pretty good, but she'll be fine," she looked him over and then gestured to his headpiece. "Better than the ski-mask, that's for sure."

"Thanks." he said deeply.

"She mentioned you." Leslie changed the subject quickly, "You two partners or something?"

"No," he repied hastily, "no. She's-a complication."

Leslie's brow rose a few inches and she set the mug down on the end-table by the stairs, the fingered the bloody scalpel in her hands, careful to mind the blade. She leaned against the railing and looked at him, then to the tool. "A complication that's been doing this since before you got back, Bruce. She's been working at this for almost a year-just recently got involved in the drug world."

He stood stone-still, unmoving. The memory-cloth caught in the breeze from the window and rustled around his ankles. "She's not ready. Countless faults make for countless mistakes."

"And countless ignorance makes for countless suffering. You're doing nothing but hindering her. Competitiveness is something she'd not good at-she'll run you over. She doesn't do well with male attention. And besides; she has something to fight for too. You can't judge her for the works he does, when you do the _exact _same thing she does. It's unethical, and it's hypocritical."

He turned sharply on his heel. "This is my city, Leslie. My parents gave their lives for this place, and they will not go unavenged. And if she's what's standing in my way; I'll get rid of her."

Leslie immediately went after him and her hand touched his shoulder, whipping his broadness to face her. He sneered at her and she stepped back hastily. "What? You'll kill her?"

He was quiet a moment. "No. I'll _expose _her."

She looked hurt, her eyes flashing with disappointment and anger for an instant. "And what of Rachel? You'd do the same to her, would you? What if she decided to get involved-without a mask?"

"Rachel is entirely differe-"

She continued. "And what about Marianne?"

"What about her?" he snapped, "She loved my parents just as much as I do." he slipped up into the window sill and stared at Leslie harshly. "She would do the same thing if she could."

Leslie crossed her arms over her chest and stared up at him from her place on the floor. "You don't get it, do you?"

He stared at her, silent.

"Those two women completely adore you," she whispered, "and you're running around like Robin Hood on steriods. If something ever happened to you-again-both of them would shrivel up and die inside. Rachel might continue with the law; might find another friend," she messaged her temple with one hand, "but Marianne...she would...she would;"

"Would what?" he snapped.

She shook her head and looked up at him. "No. You have to find out for yourself." She spun on her heel and headed back to the kitchen. Placing a hand on the door frame, she looked back at him and blinked twice, carefully taking in his presence. "That's something every man should find himself."

She disappeared around the corner and the light flicked off.

* * *

"Alfred," he spoke into the communicator fifteen minutes later, overlooking the city from his perch. He knelt and looked down the scrambling streets, locked in midnight traffic and people jamming the sidewalks with bustling busy-bodies all trying to get somewhere.

_"Yes, Master Bruce?" _the man replied casually.

"Call Lucius," he said darkly, looking over his shoulder to the direction of Leslie's clinic and the wounded female vigilante. "Ask him if he has anything like the suit he gave me."

Alfred sounded puzzled, _"What for?"_

"A woman..." the next words came like venom from his throat, "...friend," he said with a heavy sigh.

He closed the communication line and disappeared into the night.

* * *

It was well into the deepness of morning when I finally awoke, finding myself in a t-shirt and jeans I'd kept at Leslie's clinic. Is that where I wound up last night? The throbbing in my head pounded like a war-drum throughout my skull, leaving my midnight memories hazy and somewhat blank in my head.

I roused in my bed, forcing the covers off me and lifted up the hem of the shirt. Gauze was wrapped around my hips and crawled up my waistline partway. Red splotches dotted the white material around the affected area, and a dull throbbing resided there at my touch. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the pillow, taking in deep breathes of the cooling air. So, Leslie had fixed me appropriately.

Then, catching my eye across the room, was the sleek instrument tray holding of Dr. Leslie Thompkins fine surgical equiptment. They were sitting, stationary; waiting for their next patient and case to be used. My head swam for a minute and I pressed a hand to my forehead, trying to get the immense pounding to cease. Then I looked to my hand, where a small, clear tube protruded through my vein. I fingered the tubing with my other hand and followed it with my eyes, to the inevitable IV stand beside my bed. The bag was clear liquid, and I figured it was a steady antibiotic or pain-killer.

In the corner of my room, I saw the closet door opened a sliver. Inside, my cunning secret identity laid tucked away in the bowels of the clothing and shoes which belonged to Leslie. A smile floated onto my lips as I recalled her willingness to help me at every turn. Even in my time of confusion and harsh lifestyle, she'd been there to bandage my wounds-heal my scars. She was the angel God had sent me to help me through the darkest parts of my life.

A soft knock sounded on my door. "Marianne? Are you awake?"

Her soft yet gruff voice soothed my frangled nerves. "Yeah, please; come on in Leslie." the door opened and exposed Leslie in her true form-common Wrangler jeans and red v-neck t-shirt, matched with sandals and a messy bun, even in the cooler September weather. She wrapped her arms around her abdomen and entered, seating herself on my bedside.

Leslie was more of a grandmother to me than my own flesh and blood one. While my Grandma Jean spent her days basking in the Louisiana sunlight, Leslie resided here, in the slums and dankness of Gotham's underbelly; ever a shining light of God's grace and mercy; true evidence of love in a loveless world. Her greying black hair and shining emerald eyes-though marred with slight cataracts and hidden behind petite glasses-held power and adoration that I'd never seen before. She was a firey spirit, strong willed as if she'd been young her entire life. Her calloused hands and experience weary mind were only signs of a life spent helping people through hard times-people like me.

"How are you holding up, child?" she rubbed my arm gently, "Pain okay?"

I nodded and touched my throat. "Fine. How long have I been asleep?"

"Most of the night," she replied casually. "You came in about midnight. It's-" she checked her aging wristwatch, "-eleven fifteen right now."

Every nerve in my body tensed. "In the afternoon?" Whipping my covers off, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and my world spun. Pressing fingertips to my temple, I steadied myself and looked out the window. "No, no, no," I frantically looked around for my shoes and other belongings. "It can't be that late! I-I have things to do! Everyone will be wondering-"

"-where you are?"

I whipped my attention to the doorway, where Bruce Wayne leaned casually, hands in pockets, as usual. My eyes widened and I looked to Leslie who gave me a reassuring "don't-worry-he-doesn't-know" look. My heart stopped palpatrating inside me like a time-bomb and I managed to stand. "What are you doing here?" I began to take the IV from my wrist, strength slowly beginning to rise from my legs.

"I called Bruce after you spiked a post-op fever," Leslie said calmly, helping my shaking hand slowly and carefully remove the IV line. "He came about six. Been checking on you ever since." she stopped the IV and looped the tube around the stand. "He's been a good boy, don't worry."

I frowned at him and shook my head. "You shouldn't be down here," I began to search the room for some of my "belongings"; things I kept as cover at Leslie's. Watches, shoes, socks, a checkbook, things of that matter. "The Narrow's isn't good to people like you, Bruce." I looked up at him after accepting some things from Leslie. "Not like it once was, anyway,"

He entered the room and shrugged a shoulder, wrinkling his face as if it were nothing. "Eh, don't worry about it. I heard you might need a ride." he winked in my direction, "Figured I could be of service."

Nodding, I ran a hand through my hair. "Does Rach know?"

He shook his head. "Didn't tell her. I thought you might not want such details exposed to the world." He gestured with his head towards the door. "You hungry? We left you some juice and half a slice of toast. Leslie said you could eat on a light diet."

The sound of food spiked an upset flow in my stomach, and I pressed a palm to my unaffected area. As he spoke, my brain flew into overdrive. What was he thinking? Did he know? What would he think if he _did _know? Was he concerned...? "Eck, no. I'm still feeling sick from the Lido."

He ran his fingers through his hair, "Well, alright then. You ready to go? Curl's been missing you," my eyes widened and he held up to hands as if to stop my bombardment of oncoming questions, "don't worry. I checked on him at eight. He's fine."

Relief washed over me. "Yeah, I'm ready to leave. No offense, Leslie." she shrugged and began to make the bed. I took a shaky step forward and blood rushed through my ears, and I leaned to the side as the world turned. Thrusting out my arm to stable myself, I suddenly felt two strong hands seize my arms and right me immediately. I looked up slowly to see Bruce smiling softly at me.

"You okay, Champ?"

I shook my hand in the "sort of" gesture. "Not quite there, but working on it. Thanks." He nodded in affirmation.

"Alright then. Let's get you home, Marty. Think you can handle the stairs?" he raised an ebony brow, his chocolate eyes boring into the side of my head. My stomach mixed with butterflies and nausea from the Lido, and my head swam slightly. Shaking my curls slightly, I nodded slowly.

"I think so."

After a few sad attempts, it was true. I made it to the sidewalk, where I reassured Bruce I could handle the rest of the way. He nodded and retrieved his sunglasses from his jean's pockets and slipped them over his eyes-giving him a very sexy, playboy affect. I rolled my eyes as he headed towards the car, twirling the keys to the Camaro around his finger. I turned to Leslie and she wrapped her arms around me in a good-bye hug.

"Thank you again, Leslie," I said quietly into her ears. "You're a Godsend."

She chuckled, "I know, angel. Be careful," she patted my back gently, "try and stay away from the firepower, okay? Don't scare me again."

I nodded and pulled back. "Will do, chief. I'll come and get the suit later tonight. Stow it away, would you?"

She saluted playfully and winked. "Will do, angel. Take it easy. Call me if you need anything."

Chuckling, I smiled and planted a quick, good-bye kiss on her cheek and hurried down the few steps and towards the '69 Camaro. Then, popping open the passenger door, Bruce leaned over the seat and waved good-bye to our favorite Physician. She waved back before retreating into the house again.

I slipped slowly in the car and the first thing Bruce did beside slip the car into first gear was look dead at me and pushed up his sunglasses.

"What in God's name where you doing to get yourself shot?"


	8. Draw Weight

**Chapter Seven**

The question seemed to suck the air from the car.

I blinked at my best friend, the only man on this earth I'd truly come to adore. Having him sitting there, staring at me with chocolate colored eyes, a look of distain and confusion dotting his incredibly handsome features. Heat boiled through my skin and dashed up my neck, blossoming my cheeks into a bright red, heated charade. I swallowed hard and interlaced my fingers, messaging my knuckles with enough fiercity I thought they'd shatter beneath my skin.

It felt like the question had been dynmaite, hurled at me from out of nowhere and exploding in my ears. My head rang with the question, it echoed across the recesses of my brain. I swore I saw the world spinning out of control like a kaleidoscope; completely out of reach and unstoppable. Frantically I begged God for an answer that wouldn't be a lie. I looked at Bruce and reached to push up my glasses-sadly finding that they were replaced with my contacts.

We sat there, Bruce's foot on the brake, wasting time and daylight. I had a million and one things to do; not to mention get ready for work tomorrow at the hospital. My residency was calling and there was necessary preparation to get ready for. And Jonathan would be needed the updated medical records, which I had yet to work on. The blood work from County was probably finished, and I'm sure Riley Stern from the lab had left at least ten messages asking for me to call him back. I shook my head in confusion and crossed my arms over my chest. Yes, I'd get out of this with the "I'm-to-busy" bid.

"Bruce, I have things to do-" I reached to turn on the radio.

Instantly, as if magic, his hand swatted mine from the radio without taking his eyes off of me. My hand retreated to my side and I blinked at him, swallowing hard again. My mouth felt like a home of cotton-tails living in the Sahara. I was without hope, without escape. I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. "Marty..."

"Okay," I said calmly. "Don't laugh," my mind frantically scrambled in every direction. I'd have to lie to get through this. He blinked, one wrist draped over the steering wheel, the other on the gear stick, waiting for my reply. Why on earth did I have to be so...pathetic? "I was..."

"Was what?" he demanded sternly.

What would I say that Bruce would believe? He knew everything about me. Well, almost everything. But, I did know he was an expert at seeing through my unplanned lies and schemes, like he always had. I puffed out a breath and thought about the night. A fight, Batman, and shooting...shooting! That was it. The words flew from my mouth before I could even stop them. "I've been mentoring a group of girls in the Narrows on how to use a bow and arrow," the lie slipped like honey from my lips, and so far it sounded pretty good. "I've been going down there a few times a week. They're really enjoying it."

His brows rose. "And where are you getting these bows and arrows? Marty, those things are expensive to be letting kids use them." he concluded. "You've been coming down here yourself?" he sounded disgusted and insulted. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's...a project," I shrugged a shoulder. Something sour began to bubble in my stomach. "Bobbie at the shop has been letting me borrow some of her old equiptment. And Dayton at the range has supplied some older bows and a few arrows for me. It's been going good."

He slipped on his sunglasses again and pushed them down on his nose to look at me. My chest constricted at this and I blushed slightly. "And where are you keeping these things, Mart?"

"At Leslie's," I continued my lie, kicking myself mentally at each word. My head pounded with an increasingly painful headache, but that didn't stop me. Heat flushed through my veins and painful throbbing continued to spread throughout my skull. "We got a little too rambunctious and one of the guys drew a gun to be funny," I whispered. "he thought it wasn't loaded..."

Quickly he whipped off his sunglasses and slipped the car back into park. "What? These kids have _guns _Marianne?" he sounded shocked, as if this were new to him. "And you're going down there unprotected?"

I raised my hands, "Don't worry, Bruce! I'll search them before we start practice, okay? Things like this happen. It isn't new down here." My voice trailed off as he glared at me. My stomach tied into a knot and without warning, he pressed the clutch and slipped the Camaro back into drive. I gripped the door's vinyl handle, mentally forcing the stress to slip into the fierceness of my grip and sink into the material of the car. It didn't work, and he continued on as we crept through the Narrow's streets, dodging by people and careful to watch for an suspicious passerby's.

"Marianne," he said somewhat calmly, "you can't keep coming down here without...muscle," he thought for the right word before saying it. Then he glanced at me and refocused his attention on the road. "This isn't okay. I don't want you coming down here without someone."

I snorted playfully and smiled at him. "You can't really stop me, Bruce. I'm a big girl. I can handle this-"

"Marty!" he snapped at me, slamming the stick into third gear as we hit the actually streets. We blended with traffic nicely and he navigated the city like a pro. I gripped the door handle harder, allowing my anger to seep through my fingers. The heat rising in my chest burned extensively, and I felt like a ticking time-bomb. He was not going to stop me from...Reacher. She was everything I had right now; besides my work and my dog. My family was gone, back to Colorado, and Rachel was into her law and whatnot. Bruce, well, he just came into the picture and tossed my emotions onto a roller coaster. I thought I'd gotten over my crush for him, but it'd come back, blazing glory and all.

"What!?" I demanded, throwing my hands into the air. "Bruce, you _can't _stop me from helping people!" I yelled at him, voice bouncing back into my ears like thunder. I couldn't believe my defensiveness! Even to my best friend. "People down here need to see that we care about them. This place is still rotting, just like it was, and there is nothing stopping it. A little light can pierce the darkness," I said, forcing myself to calm down. "someone has to do something. This place is smoldering..."

"Then let someone else do it!" he hissed back, "It's not your responsibility! These people are what killed my parents, Marianne." he jerked the wheel left and we pulled over at the curb, him slamming the stick back into park and the Camaro lurched after squealing a few times. It died out instantly and we sat dormant, staring at each other blankly. "How can you just overlook that?"

"Overlook that?" I asked him, disbelief flooding my voice. Tears welled over my lashes and his complexion blurred. "I can _never _overlook that, Bruce! You're parents were the most wonderful, gracious, God-fearing people I know! They gave everything for this city, for those people. How can you, as their son, just look passed the hurt that you're father tried to fix?"

He sat, silent. I swallowed a sob and breathed in deeply and dared my next words. "There is such a thing as forgiveness, Bruce. You're father possessed that trait as long as I can remember. He taught it to us, as friends! He'd be ashamed of you, knowing you'd harbored such...unforgiveness to those who need forgiveness." Glaring at him, I whirled my head around to look out the window, biting down on my nails and choking back a rough sob. Tears spilled over my lashes and I looked over my shoulder at him, hair slapping me in my face and stinging my eyes. Then, slowly looking away, I reached for the handle on the door and pulled it towards me. The door unlatched and I pulled it open roughly. Swinging my legs to step out, pain flared up my side and into my spine, but I ignored it. Then, swiftly exiting the car, I slammed the door and headed down the street.

"Marianne!" I glanced over my shoulder to see him leaning against the car, watching me go. I shook my head and swiped away at my tears, hurrying into the bustling streets of people before he could come after me. Stopping at the corner of one of the brick buildings, I ran my fingers over the rough, unfinished edges and cast a look back at him.

"Sorry, Bruce," I whispered, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. I rounded the corner and wrapped my arms around my stomach, not caring about the soaring pain in my abdomen. It didn't nearly hurt as much as the ache in my chest.

I'd finally made it home after hailing a cab, sobbing as I slid into the backseat. The driver flashed me a look, and I managed to choke out the words to my address. He nodded and jolted the taxi into traffic, allowing me to rest my forehead against the cool glass and let the salty tears trace a path down my face. When he stopped at my house, I looked at the apartment complex and sighed.

Jonathan Crane's car was parked out front.

* * *

_"What do you mean she's not home?"_

He sighed and pressed his pocket hankerchief to his forehead, dabbing at the perspiration beads lining his hairline. "I mean she's not home. Her car is parked in the lot, but the only person at home is the barking beast of a dog."

The man huffed and growled out the next sentance. _"Do you know when she'll be back?"_

"No," he interjected. "Why do you care anyway? The drugs were delivered just fine, and we'll go to the apartment later tonight. How do you want me to get rid of it?"

_"I don't care! Just make sure the woman isn't onto anything. One of the guards said she was snooping around the hallway to the basement. Just...keep her occupied."_

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Fine. I'll see you tonight."

_"Don't screw this up, Crane._"

He slapped the phone shut. "Scout's honor."

* * *

I rapped the glass of the SUV with my knuckles and the man in the front-seat jumped. Spindly Jonathan Crane pressed his hand to his chest and fumbled with the car's handle to pop the door open. I stepped back and allowed him to exit his vehicle and blinked twice, hoping I didn't look too pathetic to be in his company.

"Marianne, are you alright? You look disheveled."

So much for looking presentable. I waved the question away and tried to look attentive, busying myself with my wild curls. "I'm okay. What can I do for you, Jonathan?"

He smiled and folded his hands in front of him appropriately. Then, looking to the ground, he chuckled and drew his attention back to me. "I was wondering about the medical records. Have you finished them yet?"

"No," I said apologetically, "I haven't gotten to them. I had some business I had to take care of last night. I'm sorry." I side-stepped his stare and rounded around his SUV to the apartment complex. He followed as I punched in my code to enter the building. It buzzed obnoxiously and we entered inside quickly. "Why? Did you need them immediately?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "Not exclusively. I just wanted to make some notes in the psychological colums over the files," he wrinkled his nose and waved the thought away as if it were nothing to him, "but that's okay. When will you have them ready?"

We made our way to the elevator and stepped on, then I pressed the button to the above floor. My hands were somewhat shaky with the diminishing affects of the Lidocaine, but I covered it somehwat well. By the look of Jonathan's face, I knew he was hinting that something wasn't quite right with me today. "Oh, well, how about later this evening? I can start on them right away."

He nodded and smiled at me cheekily. "Wonderful. You can drop them off at the Asylum then. Is that okay?"

Okay? That was wonderful. It gave me the excuse I needed to stick around the Asylum and "reach" inside for any clues I needed to concluded my suspicion. And, not only that, it provided the perfect escape from Batman and my dear friend Bruce. It seemed in the ashes of my day came a ray of sunlight shining through. "Oh, that's great! I'll hand them off to your man there. That's fine, yes."

He clapped his hands together. "Wonderful. Shall I escort you back to your room, or can you handle it?"

I shrugged a shoulder. "I can manage. Thank you, Jonathan. I'll see you tonight. Somewhere around seven?" Seven was a safe time range. I'd be able to drop off his documents and then head to Leslie's and take it from there. It wouldn't be terribly dark by then, but just enough to know that a familiar bat infestation shouldn't be awakened.

"Seven then." he stepped off the elevator and his pocket vibrated. "Excuse me, Marianne." With that, he took the call and stepped back into the elevator, seemingly unaware that his ride up here was completely unnecessary. His form disappeared behind the doors of the car and I headed to my apartment.

As usual, Curley was excited to see me, jumping around and wagging his tail raggedly as he said hello. I comforted the poor animal and reassured him I was fine, then disappeared into the solitude of my bedroom to get cleaned up. A pair of yoga pants and a tank top later, I emerged with pen and files to get to work on Jonathan's documentation. I curled down on the floor to begin work.

I was just about to start when Curley appeared by the window, looking behind my overstuffed lime-green chair and began to bark hideously. I wrinkled my brow and slowly got up, minding my wound and quickly heading into my bedroom to retrieve an extra bow and arrow-in case the intruder was in the form of sometype of rodent. Pulling back and inching towards the chair, Curley came out and began to dance around my legs. Immediately this told me it was not a critter, and I set the bow and arrow down.

Pushing aside the chair, I gasped and fell to my backside at what the thing was. I hit the floor with a loud thud and screamed, clutching my side as fire hot pain exploded in my abdomen. Tears formed at the corners of my eyes but quickly receded as soon as I wrapped my fingers around the corner of the package. On the face of the box was a quick note, jotted in short-hand.

**"No more favors. We're even." -B. **

I scowled. Even? Since when did he owe me anything? I'd done nothing to help that miscrient, and that was fine by me. He was ungrateful anyway, and untrustworthy. I wrinkled my brow and ripped open the tape around the edges and flipped the flaps of the box open. There, staring at me, was a perfectly folded suit, with three interesting tools on top. Shuriken looking things, a deep purple color. They were in the shape of a perfectly designed and torched "R", with a sharp line jutting out into a point from the diagonal part of the letter. Anger over came me and I wrapped my hand around it and whipped it into the wall by the kitchen. It hit the plaster by the refridgerator and a tiny cloud of dust floated into the breeze.

"He was in my _house_!"

Quickly, I got up and repackaged the box, making sure everything was put back in its original place. Then, I furiously wrote a note back to him, anger overcoming all sense that I had. Taping it to the box, I quickly finished my files for Jonathan and changed into a pair of nice jeans and an appropriate shirt. Grabbing my purse and the box at hand, I hustled out the door and glanced at the clock. Twenty after six.

Hurrying into the hallway, I glanced down at note and a wicked smile painted onto my lips. We were even, that was for sure.


	9. Longbow

**Chapter Eight**

**The Previous Night...**

Sleep had found him only moments after he'd dropped into bed somewhere around three in the morning. Exhaustion had coursed a path through his muscles and fatigue had pulled his eyelids so far that he feared he'd go blind. It was almost impossible to make his way to the master bedroom-falling into an empty bed had never felt so refreshing. With the first breath he took he felt like a new man. Batman had seemed like decades ago, while in reality it was only moments. His snores overtook the room about three minutes later.

Unaware to the world, a moan escaped his lips as he buried his head into his feather pillow. Stretching his arms out as far as they'd go, his knee popped reassuringly as he relaxed back into the sheets of his bed. Inhaling the scent of fresh linens, he peeked to see Alfred standing beside the bed, silver tray at hand. A smirk was painted onto his lips.

"Bats are nocturnal, Alfred," he mumbled, squinting against the sunlight blaring through the uncurtained window.

Alfred snorted slightly and set the tray down on the side-table with a delicate ting. "Bats maybe. But for billionaire, three o' clock is pushing it. The price for leading a double life, I'm afraid." he righted the newspaper on the tray, when something caught his eyes. Quickly unfurling it, he scanned over the headline. "Your theatrics made an impression, sir. Taking it a little too far, are we? The police don't seem appriciative."

Bruce stumbled out of bed and shielded his eyes against the intruding sun, as if it'd become his mortal enemy. In all reality, it had, since bats were indeed creatures of the night; and his escapades did place him in the middle of darkness. Scratching the back of his neck, he reached for the glass of water from the tray. He noticed through the bottom of the glass that Alfred was eyeing his torso far more intently than necessary.

"If those are to be the beginning of many injuries," he began, seating himself in the bay window of the master bedroom, "I suggest finding a suitable excuse for your lady friends would be in order."

Bruce set the glass back on the table and looked to his friend. "And you suggest?"

"Polo, for instance. A very rigorous, professional, _expensive _sporting activity."

Bruce threw Alfred a look and wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I'm not learning Polo, Alfred."

"And what will you learn, sir?" Alfred dipped his head to make a point, "Besides how to beat human beings into a bloody pulp, that is." Bruce threw him another look, but Alfred remained unphased.

"Alfred-"

Alfred continued, "A non-existant social life, peculiar injuries, a sudden interest in martial arts? These things beg for attention, Master Bruce, and people will start asking the question: what do you do with all your money and time?"

Bruce considered this as he went into position. He stood stock-straight, placed his feet together at the ankles and shook out his arms to relieve tension. Then, releasing a quick breath, he fell to the floor and began his morning routine of rigorous push-ups at a hasty pace. Immediately heat rushed his blood and beads of perspiration trickled down his back and onto the floor-he did not care, nor did he stop.

"So," he said between pushing up, "what do people like me do, Alfred?"

Alfred shrugged and rolled his eyes as his charge continually abused his physical body to the point of exertion. "I don't know, drive sports cars, date movie stars, throw parties. All different sorts of things, I'm afraid. You must but chose one of them you like, sir."

Ignoring his butler's statement, Bruce thought about his last excursion through Gotham before completely collapsing in the haven of his home. As he forced his body down and up, the flashing memory of Reacher's "haven" brought a few questions to his mind.

It seemed like a normal abode; that of a normal person. Upon further investigation of the vigilante's home, he found nothing that could trace back to the woman behind the aggrevating masks. No pictures, just unpacked boxes. He could find nothing anywhere that could give him an idea of who this woman truly was. Everything was..._normal. _

After a few more moments of silence, Alfred left him to his workout. When he was finished, he collasped onto the Persian rug of the bedroom and rolled onto his back, brow furrowed in deep thought. Marianne came to mind instantly-her wounded expression at his disapproval of her charity work, the hurt flashing across her navy eyes at his unforgiveness. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

He reached for his hair and pulled as much of it as he could from his scalp. Pain shot down his spinal cord and radiated through his body. He didn't care. Maybe it was a inkling of how she felt; her gunshot wound and emotional pain considered. How on earth had he strayed so far from what his father had taught him as a child? The thought sparked memories of Thomas Wayne across his mind and he pushed it away.

He closed his eyes again, and what he found frolicking through his mind surprised him; Marianne and Rachel, senior year in high school. How Marianne was lost in last hour, bustling around the hallways in desperate search of health class. A smile pulled at his lips as he recalled her appearance that day: ripped jeans, a faded camoflauge tanktop, and flip-flops. She had looked exhausted having never really gotten used of the public school setting.

Marianne. The woman continually surprised him. Though he found it hard to believe she'd actualy gotten shot-it was far out of her comfort zone to even approach the Narrows-he saw the sincerety in her eyes, if only for an instant. Getting up from his position on the floor, he walked to the armoire to pluck out a white cotten v-neck. Pulling it on, his thoughts moved to Reacher; the mysterious, alluring female night-watcher.

He remembered the way her curly hair and sprang in different directions around her face; a very light brown color with enough bounce to confuse a spring. He'd never really compaired the blueness of her eyes; a deep color, like the ocean. Interest seized him and he headed out of the master bedroom and throughout the mansion, slowly making his down the columns of steps. Aimlessly he wandered until he found himself in his father's den, standing before the cold fireplace and staring at the picture of him and Marianne at high-school graduation. Rachel was to his left, Marianne to his right. All three of them had been all-smiles, ecstatic at their accomplishment in life. Why did it feel like so long ago?

He studied Marianne for a moment. Untamed curls pulled into a half pony-tail at the temples, bangs put into her favorite style-a puff with bobby pins. Her hot-pink frames stuck out awkwardly on her face, clashing with the brightness of her eyes that day. He shook his head and scratched his chin, Marianne was truly a character. He loved the way she was always so...expressive; and her opinions! Heavy enough to confuse a philosopher. Their senior year she'd been asked to run for class president; even though her absence ninety percent of the time was the deciding factor of her disagreement. She was by far intelligent, funny and...excuisate.

He turned away from the photo and headed out of the den.

* * *

**Present Evening...**

"Good evening, Miss Clark," I stated as cheerfully as possible despite the occurances earlier during the appointment. "I'm Dr. Lancer. I hear you're having frequent urinate?"

The teenage girl, not much older than sixteen, stared at me and blinked as if she didn't understand the question. In the next second, she popped her bubble gum between her lips. I seated myself on the rolling chair in front of the exam table, laying the clipboard across my lap. My brows rose a few inches and I contemplated if this girl was even goign to answer the question for a second. She sighed and crossed one leg over the other and examined her fingernails in the next instant.

"Yeah," she stated with a shrug, "it's gotten worse. I decided to come have it looked at," she rolled her eyes, "my mom would kill me if she found out I'd skipped phy ed."

I nodded and pursed my lips together. "How long has this been going on?"

She shrugged again. "A few weeks. It's gotten worse over time."

Glancing down at the medical chart, I went through the questions mentally. The first one slipped through my lips by accident. "Are you sexually active?"

She popped to attention and glared at me, "Why do you care?"

I sighed and then replied carefully. "Being sexually active can have alot to do with the symptoms of your complaint," I began to count on my fingers, "it could be an STD, UTI, or even pregnancy," I gave her a sympathetic look.

Her face paled a few shades and she straigtened, letting her leg fall from atop her knee. She folded her hands in front of her and looked down at her Jimmy Choo flip flops. Then, biting her lower lip, she looked back up at me. "Pregnancy?"

**Yes. **Check.

I nodded and folded the clipboard across my chest and tilted my head to the side. "Rachelle. When was the last time you had intercourse? With anyone?" I asked the question as kindly-and sensitively-as I could. She hung her head and then looked back up at me, tears welling her eyes.

"Three weeks," she whispered. "you really think I could be pregnant?"

Deciding to add some hope to this girls seemingly hopeless case, I stood up and began marking some things off my list. "It's a possibility. But, we'll run some tests first to determine if it's an infection or not. Then, if nothing comes up in your bloodwork, we'll do a urine dip," she looked terrified, "and if that's negative-" I smiled kindly, "we'll probably do a pelvic exam."

She gulped. "Okay," she said quietly, almost seeming to choke down a sob, "whatever you say."

I nodded and clicked my pen, then stuck it behind my ear. "Don't jump to any conclusions, Rachelle. It's not always the worst case scenario."

She nodded and shrank back, bringing her knees up to her chin so her heels planted firmly agains the edge of the table. She let her forehead fall onto her arms and she began to cry. I sighed and decided that bowing out gracefully and letting her be alone would probably be the best course of action.

Kathie, one of the RN's, started passed me and I grabbed her arm. "You mind doing a workup for a blood-draw? I'm going to write this on the board and get ready for a pelvic. That okay with you?"

She nodded. "Sure thing."

So I began my workup. Quickly jotting the scenario on the board, I studied the others. Dr. Carson, a UTI. Dr. Phelps, a mammogram. Dr. Ridge, a sport's exam. Everyone seemed busy-no one to ask to take over the potential pregnancy. I guessed I'd be ruling out a pregnancy on my own today. Replacing the dry-erase marker back with the others, I looked to the filling lobby and puffed out a breath. It would be a long day, and it wasn't even the evening rush yet.

Running an aggrevated hand through my curls, my eyes scanned the computer screen as I clicked away for a print out of a few different diagnoses. Teen pregnancy, STD's, and UTI's. That seemed to cover almost everything, so I headed towards the huge Xerox printer underneath the counter and fished through the old print-outs. The warm computer paper touched my fingers and I quickly snatched them. Shuffling them to an orderly perfection, I tucked them underneath Rachelle's chart and put retreived the pen from my hair. Biting down on the tip, I ignored the figure leaning against the desk.

"That could give you ink poisoning, _doctor_," I popped my head up to look at the male figure and a smile played at my lips. Setting the pen and clipboard down, quickly I rounded the counter and pressed the release button on the wall. Immediately and air-tight doors seperating the ER from the lobby opened with a pop and I bustled through. Arms outstretched, I welcomed the character to my domain with a giant hug.

"Carter!" I chuckled, his arms protectively wrapping around me. He smelled of jet fuel and cologne, and a hint of his favorite gum dashed across my nose. We rocked back and forth good naturedly, and we finally parted. He planted a friendly kiss on my forehead.

"Hey, Lance." he smiled at me and re-shouldered his jockey bag, "How's my favorite student?"

I beamed up at him. "Just fine, thank you. And my favorite teacher? What are you doing back in Gotham?"

John Carter III, millionaire ER doctor and devoted teacher. Carter had accepted a job as a teacher at GCU, teaching ER medicine and anatomy. He was originally from Chicago, Illinois. Mostly working at hospital called Cook Country General, he sacrificed a life in the OR for the beloved ER, and had a record at the same hospital for going on 5 years. He'd been my favorite teacher in school; being not much older than myself and other fellow students. He had a dream for missionary medicine (much like myself) and had been to Africa on two occasions. He was massively attractive and wealthy, much like someone else I knew.

He shrugged. "GCU asked me to teach another semester as a sub this year," he looked around the bustling ER, "you working here now?"

I nodded and turned on my heel, beckoning him forward. "Yeah. Just until my residency is done. Then I'm going to work in a clinic down in the Narrows." I glanced at the clock on the wall. "Where are you staying?"

He entered the doors behind me and set his stuff on the ground. "The Gotham Claire. How long are you on?"

I picked up my chart and marked off a few things. "Not much longer. 45 minutes, then I'm home-free." I looked to my belongings under the desk and face-palmed myself lightly. Carter chuckled at me and shook his head. "I just forgot. I'm busy the rest of the night." Jonathan Crane and slipped my mind! All those files needed to be sent to him, and Arkham needed some serious recon. "I'm sorry."

He waved it off. "Not to worry, Marianne. I'll order in tonight and maybe tomorrow we can meet up for lunch or something? I'd really just like to hang out and get reacquainted with my home-away-from-home."

I nodded and folded my chart to my chest, looking up at him. "Okay. Give me a call then, John. I'll see you tomorrow."

He saluted playfully and grinnd. "Tomorrow then."

I laughed at him. "Until then. Bye." I wiggled my fingers in a good-bye wave and went off to see to my teenage patient.

Fifty minutes later, I left the hospital, exiting the suffocating ER and entering into the chilly September evening. The whistling wind bit through my light jacket and I hustled towards the parking ramp. Gripping my leather bag with white-knuckle strength, I hurried between the parked cars until I spotted my olive-green Outback. I slowed my pace considerably.

Dancing beams of light struck the cement wall of the parking ramp. I looked up as the sound of squealing rubber on pavement echoed across the empty, dark ramp. My shadow enlarged as the beams surrounded me in their white light and I spun around. My curls fwapped in my face as my eyes went wide, as if I were a doe in the headlights.

Every nerve within me turned to steel. Even without my mask, white-hot rage burned within my soul. My teeth clenced, and danger glanced across my glasses. Trying my best not to position myself for an attack. I finally settled my frangled cells and played the best innocent bid I could muster. Forcing my hand to block out the white-light, I squinted my eyes and gripped my bag.

"Excuse me?" I managed, "Can I help...?"

Within an instant, two figures appeared from the windows on either side of the car. In the shadows, I spotted two black boxes the men where holding. I took a step forward to approach the Suburban and shook my curls in confusion. "Did you need some help-"

Immediately the boxes exploded into flashing bursts of light, gunfire smacking the air with a jolt. I screamed and ducked behind the nearest car I could find, which happened to be a Ford F-150 duelie. I instantly looped the strap of my bag over my shoulders and took off my pumps, stuffing them inside while they continued to fire. Their guns echoed across the seemingly vanishing air, my lungs choking for the extra oxygen. My side burned hotly, and I winced as I crouched behind the tire of the truck.

"Time to bail," I told myself quietly. I stayed low and crouch-crawled my way in-between some more cars, careful to stay below the windows. The motion made my abdomen ache, but I forced the pain from mind. I thought of the sweltering days in Australia, the days when the cobra venom seemed impossible to overcome; the bullet holes like fire erupting within my soul. I forced my nerves to remain strong and stopped at least ten cars away from the truck.

_Bang_. Two car doors slammed back into place, and two sets of foot steps out of rythm sounded on pavement. Dropping to my knees, I hit behind a Volkswagen bug and dropped to my belly. Pain overcame me and I squinted, watching as they approached my car.

The one tried the driver's side door, but fortuneately I'd locked it tight. They whispered something and then without a second thought, both of them slammed the butts of their rifles into my windows. Shattering glass rained down to the pavement, and I watched as they unloaded their weapons into my interior, and then my tires. Sorrow struck my heart as if it'd been one of my arrows, that was my favorite car! Gunfire exploded across the ramp, echoing across the expanse and rattling off the cars. With every round the cement seemed to vibrate beneath my fingers.

Perhaps it was anger more than the gunfire.

They stopped suddenly. Suspicious, I watched as they ransacked the Outback for anything valuable. I watched as a round object fell to the ground, a familiar red CD-undoubtedly my favorite Everfound one. A hefty boot slammed into it and then it was shattered. I rolled my eyes. Then they muttered a few other things-harsh, fould words-and then hustled back to the SUV. Two doors slammed, and the exhaust sputtered, a sign that they were leaving.

I slowly rose, hand at my side. I looked to my bullet-holed, flat car and my stomach sank. Immediately questions began to pop into my head like popcorn: who where these people? Why did they want me dead? _Who _had _sent _them to kill me? I listed a few people in my head that would want me dead. Carmine, Icechest, Miranda. Three names from my past that rang like bells in my brain. Carmine was locked up, Icechest was somewhere over the Atlantic, and Miranda, well...who knew where that billionairess was?

Watching as the tail-lights lit red, I winced as a shattering thud sounded around the area of the SUV. Immediately the hazards went off, the car alarm started to blare, and four men exited the car in a blaze of black bodies. They aimed their rifles at the front of the SUV and began to fire. Gunfire ransacked the air and I took off for the action, curiosity spiked.

I stopped a few feet from the scene. Kneeling behind a Impala, I witnessed these men attack the front of their own vehicle. Instantly a figure rushed up on top the car, a black sheet whisking out behind him. Two pointy ears and a titanium laced suit later, Batman front flipped off the SUV and hit the ground gracefully, then disappeared into the row of vehicles; not terribly far from my own hiding place.

I decided I'd better get out of there. Those men would spread out faster than butter in July, and I had no chance fighting them without a bow, arrows, and a mask. So, I bit my lower lip and slowly backed from the Impala, weaving my way between a Jeep and a Hyundai. Looking over my shoulder, I gasped and fell on my backside, pressing myself against the Hyundai at the sight of him.

He looked over the hood of the Jeep and then back at me, eyes dark and flashing with anger. His scowl was fiercer than I'd seen it before, and my stomach pooled with frustration. He couldn't leave me alone out of costume! Deciding to play this one out, I faked my breathing and made it as shaky as possible without overdoing the acting. He looked for the men again and crouched, reaching into the depths of his overly impressive cape to retrieve an object. One of those fancy bat-shaped toys, I presumed.

"You okay?" He rasped. He'd been working on the voice, quite impressive.

I nodded and tucked some hair innocently behind my ear. "Yes, fine. You must be Batman." Duh, of coarse he was! I shook the pestering argument away from my head and swallowed thickly. "You know who those men are?" Better to get information out of him as an innocent bystander than an overly aggrevated vigilante archer.

He nodded. "Falcone's men. He sent them to kill you."

"Why?"

"You tell me."

I frowned at him. "How would I know? I'm a doc-tor!" Gunfire attacked the side of the Jeep and he lifted his cape to block the fragments of metal and shrapnel from his eyes. I curled myself into a ball and looked between my arms at him. The gunfire stopped, and he popped up, flicking one of his tools in their direction. One of the men screamed and rattling hit the cement. He'd dropped his rifle, and then his body hit the floor. Footsteps came in our direction.

"Oh God," I mumbled. He looked to me and then we both looked up. Just at the edge of the ramp, we could easily get up their with one of his grapnel guns. We then looked to each other and he retrieved the golden colored tool, then raised it in the air.

"You afraid of heights?" he asked, voice scratchy and rough.

I shook my head. "Not today anyway."

He extended a gloved hand and I took it, and he pulled me into him. Immediately his strong arm wrapped around my abdomen and I forced myself not to wince. My entire body was almost enveloped in his massive cape, which surprisingly wasn't that heavy. He fired the gun and hit the release and we went soaring into the air. Quick pops of gunfire below us, and then they stoppd. Their faint curses stung the air as magazines hit the pavement to reload. Before they could even consider firing at us again, we were already on the second floor of the ramp.

"Reach up," he ordered. I did so, and wrapped my fingers around the steel reinforcer. He swung himself up easily, and it took great restraint not to do the same. Ever the innocent bystander, I allowed him to roughly help me up to a standing position. We both straightened and I pushed up my glasses.

"Thanks," I managed quietly. Oh how I absolutely detested him!

"What associations do you have with Falcone?" he bombarded. I shrugged and reached into my bag. I fished around a moment and for a second debated whether or not I should give the information to him.

_**Give it to him.**_

I pulled out the copy and handed it to him.

"I know someone...she gives me information to poke around with," I shrugged, "Carmine Falcone's been raking in some big drugs off the water from an unknown source. Been in cahoots with somene called 'Scarecrow'? Operates with toxins and whatnot," I hated telling him this. Something told me to continue on, that same little voice in my head. "I'm not exactly sure what she's got herself into, but-"

"-her. Are you talking about Reacher, the archer?"

I nodded. "How did you kno-?"

"We have...association. She say where this is taking place?"

I shook my head. Don't push your luck, bud. "Don't know. She doesn't tell me _everything_."

He nodded once and then shuffled through the papers before folding them into a perfect box. They vanished into his belt, and I looked at me and turned on his heel. "Stay low. I advise staying with someone."

"And who would that be?" I asked, somewhat aggresively.

He took out the grapnel gun again and aimed it up again.

"I'd advise Bruce Wayne."

He fired the gun, and released it, vanishing into the unlighted shadows of the third story. I furrowed my brow and raised my hands in disbelief, looking out into the fading sunlight casting shadows across the skyscrapers.

"You really know how to push a girl's buttons, don't you?"


	10. Fiberglass

**Chapter Nine**

When the black Suburban didn't come roaring up the ramp to the third level of Gotham City County General's parking ramp, I knew I was okay to head back down to my beloved Outback, which seemed to sag in place as if it were as depressed as I was. Scratching my head and puffing out a breath, I forced back the urge to sob. With no car, I was unable to head home and get to the Asylum to give Jonathan his papers. Swallowing thickly, I choked down a sob and reached through the blown-out trunk window.

Flipping the edge of the carpet up, I unlocked the "secret" compartment latch and lifted it up. The lip popped open as it always had, seemingly the only part of my Subaru in working order. Inside was the oppressive box from my 'hero'. Furrowing my brow at the intrusive object, I picked up the box and stepped away from the car. Sighing, my shoulders slumped forward and I grabbed my cell phone from my pocket. Quickly dialing the operator, I asked for the number to Gotham Claire.

She transfered me and I began the hike to the curb. I'd have to get my car towed sometime tomorrow; after I called into work to cancel my shift and use whatever sick days I had left. I asked for John Carter's room and they connected me, and he answered on the third ring. Ignoring the stares coming at me from the people bustling around the sidewalks, I headed in that direction.

_"John Carter," _he said, voice more chipper than I'd originally planned. I blew some of my curls out of my face and grabbed the letter signed to me on top the box, shoving it in my pocket.

"John," I said with a weak laugh, "this is Marianne."

_"Marty! What's up? You're not cancelling lunch are you?"_

I laughed at him. "No, I don't think so. You think you can give me a ride? My car is-let's just say my car is not running at this time." I chuckled at my own sarcasm, despite my situation. I drew my attention to the street, where I spotted a familiar figure in a ash colored suit hail a cab, a few other man beside him. His scrawniness and lanky appearance immediately made him a sight for sore eyes, and I stopped in my tracks.

Jonathan was _supposed _to be meeting me at the Asylum, ready to receive his papers.

Apparently not. I furrowed my brow and said a quick good-bye to John, cancelling the need for a ride. Slipping the phone back into my jacket pocket, I balanced the box on my hip and with my arm, watching as Jonathan and the men entered a cab and passed by me. Quickly I hid my face as they passed and spun on my heel, hurrying towards the direction of the Narrows. I frantically whipped open my cell again and dialed Leslie.

_"This is Leslie,"_

"Leslie!" I said sharply, looking around the abandoned alleyway I'd cut through to make sure I wasn't being watched or followed. "Marianne. You mind doing me a favor?"

_"That depends," _she said wisely, _"Is this a costumed favor?"_

I chuckled, blinking and removing my glasses. Setting the box down, I opened the flaps and reached inside, grabbing the Shuriken looking tools and running my thumb across the 'R' shaped emblem painted in white. I nodded and tied my hair back into a messy bun, phone cradeled between my collar bone and my ear. "As a matter of fact, it would be."

I gave her directions to the drop-off point and quickly I managed to change into the 'new' suit. It fit perfectly, as if it'd been made for someone of my body type and style. Once my boots were one and the gloves in place, I looked into the box. There, at the very botton, waiting patietnly for me, was a very different "domino" mask than what I was accustomed to.

I knelt and picked it up between my fingers and ran my thumb through the eye-slits. My other mask had been deep purple, with jagged points than ran up and down my cheeks-much like two V's intertwined.

This was Venetian style; black netted "lace" (which actually looked like stronger material) with bold black lace-looking cloth around the edges. The netting was woven with white vines throughout the entire mask, which would make my face hidden behind beauty and mystery. I ran my thumb over my material-it was strong cloth; but I couldn't place what kind it would be. All I knew was that it was light-white and beautiful. It wasn't domino, it was more of an '8' mask, rounded around my eyes instead of pointed.

I instantly loved it, but yet I hated it.

How dare he conconct something so..._beautiful _and seductive and then give it to me-someone he despised? It made my blood boil with anger. Did he see me as nothing more as a female specimen; a woman for him to play mind games with? I was none of the above. I was set on a mission: strong, just, determined. I was not elegance, as this mask would display; I was powerful, strong, daunting. This mask said nothing about who I was truly. It displayed what he saw me as:

Weak.

Running my gloved hand over the material, I then gazed at the inky blackness and the newness of the suit. Power overcame me, and I felt a surge of energy burst into my soul. It didn't matter what Batman thought-I'd prove him otherwise. He'd see that I was more than this. Reacher would show him why he gave me this suit: to continue on what I've started. In essance, I'd make him regret his decision by showing him up. It would be my new goal, my new standard: be better than Batman. I situated the mask on my face and immediate the familiar micro-beads adjusted to my skin and stuck.

I began to put my items back into the box. I quickly closed it and hefted up onto my hip again and headed south, towards the docks of Gotham Harbor. It'd be quiet there, especially this late in the evening, and I was only about a twenty-five minute walk from it. Checking over my shoulder, I ducked into the shadows and took the long way around the alleyways-what us GCU's called the 'Traps'.

As far as I knew the Traps hadn't really ever been publicized in Gotham; not like the Narrows and the Upper End had. Nothing had really every happened here in the Traps; no criminals, murderers, or rapists came from these grounds. People only starved, bled, shivered and suffered in the Traps. Fathers only slaved, mothers only watched their children die. Children only grew sick, and families only perished. In a way, the Traps were almost worst than the Narrows-the Narrows always had people coming down and helping; some families even got out of the Narrows with money and led decent lives. Not here. The Traps were exactly that: a trap that held one and their family forever by helplessness. People came down here to live when there was no hope-when mortgages couldn't be met, when strikes laid men off work, when debt collectors came and took everything.

The Traps were the first outcome sometime back in the late 40's, after the depression hit America. Gotham had suffered greatly in those times; having been not large enough to provide work and its own produce. This city had relied on then "scraps" that other cities and states could offer. Iowa gave us corn, Minnesota; fish and water. The city almost died, lost in debt to the government, loss of production and exports. Families lost everything as debts were collected and people were taking to the streets. The desperate enough to take up crime to the Narrows, and the willing to work and survive the Traps.

My new boots sloshed through waste-water, my footsteps echoing off the old, crumbling morter of the alleyways. A few people secluded themselves in these dark, dank places; mostly pregnant teenagers running away from home. Scraps of crates and torn pieces of cloth littered the dirty concrete; newspapers and limp cardboard boxes hung everyone to try and provide warmth and shelter. Overhead in one of the condemned apartment complexes, there was moaning and vicious laughter. The chill of my surroundings pierced my emotions, and sent goose flesh up my arms despite the warmth of my protective outfit.

The box was beginning to become heavier in my arms, and my side was beginning to hurt. That didn't stop me. I was careful to stay in the shadows, observing the people as they pondered who and what was lurking in their darkness. I dodged people's curious wandering by swining onto fire escapes. Some people I chose to pass by-mostly teenage girls sitting with their faces between their knees, some crying, some just...being.

I was about three blocks from the docks when I remembered a passage of scripture my mother used to read to me. She led a women's Bible study at the church the Bruce and I used to attend when we were in grade school. _"For pure and holy ministry before God The Father is this: to take care of orphans and widows in their affliction, and for a man to keep his soul without defilement from the world." (James 1:27) _I remember my mother saying that people could tell we served something greater than ourselves by our devotion to to helping those in need around us, but by casting aside the things that which were wrong. By "keeping our souls without defilement" meant we were to make right decisions and be good people, ever trusting on God to deliver us from evil and bring us to a place of grace, forgiveness and wholeness.

I stopped and looked over my shoulder. A door slammed overhead from one of the apartments and I dashed into the shadows. Kneeling and leaning agains the corner of a building, I looked up to see a young girl, not much older than six or seven, jump a baby-gate blocking the path onto the balcony. I wrinkled my brow and watched her stare down into the filth of the world around her and press her face against the bar-railing. Her bright blond curls hung in riglets around her face, hair cut above the shoulders. Her clothing was ragged and her dress faded and pathed, her shoes mismatched. I reached into the box, pulling out one of the Shurikens. I tilted my head to the side and stood up.

I looked overhead and spotted a piece of broken fire escape. Taking a running start, I hurled myself into the air and wrapped my fingers around the piece and swung my weight to the left. My foot caught the side and I scrambled up silently, looking down at the box of my belongings. It would be alright until I got back.

It was easy enough to get to the roof of the building adjacent from the apartment complex. Kneeling at the ledge of the buidling, I watched her swipe at her face, undoubtedly at tears hidden from view. I smiled weakly and looked around the area, spotting a full and capable fire escape that would be good jump spot to connect me with her. Standing, I was able to drop down from the ledge and grab a window sill on the way down.

The little girl gasped and I looked down, right over the fire escape now. Releasing my hold on the rotting wooden sill, I hit the escape with a rattle, fire flaming up my abdomen. I hissed and pressed my hand against the suit and grabbed the railing, turning around and standing full height to face the youngster. Her eyes were wide and she gripped the railing, the pureness of her gaze piercing innocence into my soul. I gave her a stern look and she gulped.

"You're that woman," she said quietly, casting a nervous look over her shoulder into the darkness of the room, "the one everyone has been talking about. The one working with Batman."

I blinked and nodded. "I am. My name is Reacher."

She smiled. "My name is Liv. I'm six."

I reached inside the belt of my suit and pulled out the Shuriken. "You're practically a lady," I whispered roughly. She giggled and I held the tool up, twisting it around my finger. Immediately she looked at it and furrowed her brow.

"What's that?" she asked.

"A tool," I replied deeply, "worth a lot of money. I want you to take it and bring it to James Gordon. His son is goes to school. His name is Jimmy." she nodded as if she understood.

"Jimmy and I play at recess together sometimes. His dad's a cop."

I crouched and nodded. "Yes, he is. Take it to him and tell him you got it from me. Tell him you're from the Traps, and he'll give you money for it. Understand?"

She nodded frantically. "Uh-huh."

"Good."

With a flick, I whipped it towards her and she ducked. It hit the brick wall behind her with a _fwap!_ Immeidately she popped up and looked at it, scurried over and plucked it from the wall. Looking at it, she cockced her head to the side and I quickly jumped over the edge of the railing and hit the ground below, and took off running. Plucking the box from the ground, I disappeared around the corner and looked over my shoulder.

She tucked the Shuriken in her pocket, and slipped over the baby-gate.

* * *

The Traps was a place he didn't scout often.

He was surprised to find her here after he'd left Marianne at the parking ramp. After that he'd followed the Suburban downtown a little, where the group of men abandoned it in an alleyway just off of Marshall Street. They'd taken their guns and made a quick phone call, tossed the phone into the SUV, and bailed the area.

Of course he checked the Suburban out. No evidence whatsoever leading back to main vein of this...scenario. These thugs were sent to kill Marianne, and he wanted to know why. Nobody messed with his close ones and got away with it. He'd find this guy and rip his eyes out of his head, so to speak.

After he'd onced over the SUV, he checked the cell phone. The calls were all to unknown, secured lines. The last one the thug had made was to an unknown number. He didn't have time to analyze the call now-he lad a lead on "Scarecrow" and would follow it. Pocketing the cell phone, he left the scene and headed towards the Traps.

There he'd stumbled upon Reacher, walking the shadows with a large, familiar box. But, her suit is what caught his attention. He studied her from the rooftops, eyes wandering over her form. He caught himself almost _desiring _her, but quickly shot the mind out of his head. Heat rushed up his neck as she stopped and let her curls run down her shoulders in bobbing springs. He continued to follow her, trying to find her as she dipped in and out of the shadows and stopped to switch directions to avoid onlookers.

Then she stopped and ducked into the shadows. Setting the box down, he followed her gaze, and spotted the object of her attention. It was a small blond girl, swiping at tears running down her cheeks. He crouched and wathced Reacher as she scrambled up the fire escape and jumped the buildings, and then drop down onto the sturdy escape across from the girl's balcony. Their lips moved in conversation. He wished he could hear their conversation, but watched Reacher as she moved.

She flicked something from her grasp and dropped down over the escape. She looked up to the little girl and retrieved her box, heading farther south towards the docks. He continued to weave his way along at a slow, steady pace and kept an eye on her-really it was impossible for him to keep his eyes off of her.

Then she stopped and changed directions. Now she was heading towards him. He guessed she was avoiding the rougher, more populated area of the Traps. She looked both ways and set the box down, then hurried away from it and began a magnificent presentation of gymnastics. She flipped and turned and leaped through the alleyways above the earth, switching between fire escapes and flag poles, window sills and balcony's. Finally she was on the rooftops, and dropped over the ledge of one, gone.

He fired a grapnel across the opening between the buidlings and jumped. Easily, he landed on the rooftop of the building and collected his line, replacing the gun and surveying the area. Now he could see the box clearly and a smirk floated onto his lips. At first he thought she wouldn't accept the gift, but then the obvious hit him. Of course she would take it. It was an improvement, she couldn't afford not to. He realized this would give him the lower hand in their game of competition. But, he'd rather see her alive than dead.

"Puppy guarding?"

He quickly spun around, surprised. Unwilling to reveal this, he frowned and faced her. He set his jaw, furrowed his brow, and glared at her. "No. Investigating."

She smirked and shrugged a shoulder. "It's the same thing, essentially. You were following me." she walked off the ledge and approached him, eyes twinkling almost seductively but anger flashing across her features. "It's okay. I'm flattered."

"Don't be."

She tried not to smile. "I see you left me a gift," she extended her arms and spun around. "Thanks."

He said nothing, just overcame the desire to smile.

Her personality instantly changed. She frowned, crossed her arms and cocked her hip to the left, then glared at him deeply. Surprised, he stood and waited for what she would say.

"I told you I didn't need help."

"Your injury said otherwise."

She snorted. "Oh, so every time I get hurt you're going to rush to my rescue and give me something? I don't think so." she spun on her heel and flipped onto the air conditioning unit and crouched, fingers pressing against the green metal for stability. "I don't need your charity."

"I don't need a dead vigilante to clean up after."

She gauked at him and shook her head. "You're impossible." She turned on her heel and began to walk away when she stopped and glanced on her shoulder. "I'll have to tell Marianne to stear clear of you. I don't want you threatening her."

"I wasn't threatening her. I saved her life."

She snorted. "That's right. I forgot. You're a hero now, not a vigilante." She turned to face him at the edge of the unit and glared at him. Reaching to her belt, she plucked out something. "Stay away from her."

He said not a word.

Then, she flicked her wrist and the object whizzed through the air, colliding with the floor in front of him. He glanced down at the object and did his best not to chuckle. So, she was making good use of the tools after all. He looked back up at her.

But she was gone.


	11. Gungdo

**Chapter Ten**

Crouching behind a dumpster, she steadied her breathing and pressed a palm to her affected side. A spike of pain shot through her stomach and to her spine and she winced. Looking up and finding that he wasn't coming after her, Reacher looked across the alleyway to her box, which was sitting serenly in the open. A man shuffled towards her dumpster and she muttered a prayer to heaven for him to remain silent of her presence.

Batman made his way to the ledge and fingered the object in his hand. The box caught his attention and he stared at it, probably wondering what on earth was in it. Reacher watched him intently, blinking and taking in his masculine authority. Though she absolutely hated him, she adored his aura. He was uncompromising and strong, and she liked that. Probably more than necessary. She often caught herself studying his built when she shoud've been boring holes into his face with her glare.

She was woman though, she allowed herself that.

Within minutes he was jumping the rooftops, disappearing farther into the shadows, his legacy going with him. Finally he vanished altogether, leaving her alone with the rats and the homeless man rummaging through the dumpster beside her. She leaned against the brick wall and sat, hand pressed to her side and one knee bent up to her stomach. The other she outstretched as she rested her head against the wall.

He stopped rummaging and looked at her, unblinking and unmoving. She looked at him harshly from the corner of her mask and swallowed, pushing herself up off the ground and staggering towards the box. Kneeling, she opened the top flop and reached inside for her purse and unzipped it. The small vial of Morphine sat, waiting patiently for her use. Fishing around for the needle, she drew up some and removed her glove. Pressing her teeth down around syringe, she found a vein and pushed the needle in. Her thumb pressed down on the lever and it injected into her blood. Relief washed over her.

Grabbing the box, she stood and found the old man had journeyed over to her. His foggy, clouded eyes were glued onto her, unmoving as he approached slowly with a hobble. He wore a long woolen trenchcoat, once a light brown of sometype. Reacher's brows rose immediately. A small inscription on the right breast pocket alerted her to the original owner of the jacket.

Bruce Wayne.

She straightened, squared her shoulders, and stared at him. He tilted his head to the side and reached out to touch her. She moved her shoulder back to distance herself and just stared at him. He chuckled and looked at her with a starry-eyed gaze and smiled, revealing a toothless mouth tainted with alcohol. "My, my. Ain't nuttin' be prettier down here for some time," he looked at her and then to the rooftops where Batman had been previously. "You an the Bat fightin', doll?" he asked sincerely, "I'se get the feelin' bats and archers don't get 'long to well these days."

She knelt and picked up the box, chuckling and tossing of her curls over her shoulder. Reaching inside the opened box, she fished for her wallet and popped it open, pulling a twenty from Marianne's stash. "Something along those lines,"she handed it to him.

His eyes widened and he practically ripped it from her grasp. Without a word, he pocketed it and returned to his stash of garbage in the dumpster. His rummaging made her shake her head. Hefting the box up, she dashed into the shadows, heading towards the docks.

Reacher took her time slipping in and out of the shadows. She went the long way around the Traps alleyways, ever watching over her shoulder for any batlike followers. A few children watched her slip by silently, and dogs and cats swarmed away from her as she weaved in and out of the darkness, moonlight streaking across her black suit and illuminating the waters just beyond the docks.

She thought of Bruce. They'd been friends since they were young. She'd been infatuated with him since elementary school, when their father's had met over a surgical meeting for equiptment. Bruce and Marianne had hit if off since then, and had done everything together. But then Rachel happened, and Marianne had seemed to play the part of the "third wheel" since they'd grown into adolensence.

But now; things had changed. Marianne had become someone entirely new. Medicine was her lifestyle, Reacher her destiny. She had no idea where Bruce came into the picture. It was true, she loved him dearly, but she feared her childhood crush had turned into something more dangerous for someone in her line of work. She hated to love him, but couldn't not love that man. No matter what he did, it seemed okay, though she knew it was. She couldn't stay mad at Bruce Wayne for long, no matter how hard she tried. Marianne Lancer had long been the third wheel, quiet, unmoving and devoted. Now she had squeaked just a little too loudly.

Setting the box down on the old, salty docks, she crouched and looked into the violet waters. The surface rolled with a lull, waves lapping against the planks and the shoreline, seemingly harmless beneath. Alot like her feelings. Outward she was lulled and content, but inside passion burned within her. She wanted so much! Wanted to say so many things to Bruce, to Rachel, to Batman. Yet her mouth stayed closed, content with where she was.

Growling, she reached in her thigh-belt and retrieved the last Shuriken. Glaring at it, she fisted her hand around it and whipped into the glossy waters. Instantly the waters shattered and it disappeared beneath the surface, salty tears burning the corner of her eyes. She dropped to her knees and glanced up at the starry painted sky, closing her eyes and pulling off her mask. Identity exposed and heart bleeding, she looked to her gloved hands and gave shaky sigh into the air.

"God," she murmured, "what's happening? I...I don't know where I am," she squinted her eyes closed as tears meshed together with her lashes, unwilling to spill over onto her cheeks. "I don't know what You want me to do. I'm so...lost." Opening her eyes, she stared into the sky again and smiled small. "But I bet Your not lost. Help me."

"Marianne?"

Jumping to her haunches, she instantly reached into her quiver and tossed out a small arrow, lashing out behind her. The arrow went soaring right passed Leslie Thompkins, and she ducked. Donning her mask once again frantically, Reacher stood tall and strong and scowled at Leslie, taking up the box again. Unphased, Leslie got up and approached hte vigilantress.

"You're going to get yourself killed," Reacher growled roughly, "I don't miss."

Leslie lifted the quiver of arrows from across her shoulders and Reacher took them. She handed the doctor the box and was about to strap the quiver around her shoulder boudier-style when something little and red caught her eye. Plucking it from the quiver, she found it to be a thornless rose, with a note.

_For the strength blooming within. -J. _

A smile painted onto her lips. John had been her supplier for almost ten months now. He had her arrows made confidentially somewhere in Chicago through a friend of his. He was originally the one who had designed them. Ever since that first shipment, he'd been supportive yet cautious of her mask, and she was ever dependant on his supply. John had never failed to give her arrows, and she'd never failed to write letters-their bargain, per se.

"He's a sweet man," Leslie whispered. "he loves you dearly."

Reacher smelled the rose and chuckled, then took the note and handed it to Leslie. "I know. But I'm dangerous. I can't be cut." She turned on her heel and began to walk away, then stopped and glanced over her shoulders. "and I can't be de-thorned, either."

"Every rose can be de-thorned," Leslie shot back quietly, looking out across the waters. "You just have to find the right man to do it."

She dropped the rose and headed back to her X-Terra.

* * *

Arkham was quiet tonight. All the lights were out, the huge Victorian-built building stagnant against a starry sky. Reacher was able to jump the huge fence with the help of a jumpline-arrow. Glancing over her shoulder, she managed to trek up the hill, Morphine her saving grace for the evening. After dodging the search-lights and quietly snaking through the huge trees and bushes which lined the yard. Most of the guards were armed with small M9's, nothing unusual.

What was curious, though, was the south end of the huge mansion-like Asylum was the heavy-armed guards watching over the entrance which would've been the loading dock years ago. With the addition of a much larger cargo bay, Arkham was able to take in larger semi's and many more than the south bay would've allowed. Many had presumed it'd been sealed off and dedicated to Amadeus Arkham, the Asylum's founder. Wrinkling her brow, Reacher quickly changed positions and quickly scrambled up into an aging willow. She scanned the yard which the heavy armed guards were patrolling-three to the north side, then two facing her, about 100 yards from her tree. Her mind began to reel, and she drew her bow and two arrows from her quiver.

Balancing on the high branch, she closed her eyes and remembered the hot Australian days, when the desert breeze would blast small beads of sand into her skin and fill her hair with grit. She recalled how much her skinned burned with rays of sunlight. Opening her eyes, she released the arrow and it went whizzing through the air.

It crashed into the side of the building, shattering a window to the south wing. Chaos ensued as gunfire blasted the air in firey bursts. Reacher fired another one farther towards the main entrance, which sent all the southern guards running to the northern end. They met up with the security of the building and branched off towards the relaxing gardens to investigate. Satisified, Reacher jumped off the branch and hit the mossy earth, bolting from under the confines of the weeping willow, heading towards the southern end.

Careful to stay away from the searching lights, she ducked into a patch of shrubbery and quietly picked her away across the stones, stopping every few moments to listen for the distant calls of the search parties. Once it was secure, she ducked into the broken window and dropped into the building. It was farther than she expected, and she landed with a yelp.

Quickly darting for the confining shadows, she breathed hard and pressed a hand to her abdomen. Wounded, but not broken quite yet. Reacher waited a few moments before pressing on, slipping out of the darkness like a night creature and slipping out the door. She looked around, drawing her bow and nocking an arrow. Pulling back, she secured the area and inched forward.

Apparently the southern wing was dedicated to "experimental science" or so the papers read. Most of the work was conducted by Doctors Lisa Murray and Pratt Kap. They were obsessed with the criminally insane, bent on experimenting on society's condemned. Finally declared clinically depressed, Lisa went on to Bludhaven's Yardley, a professional clinic specializing in clinically depressed. Pratt apparently went insane after studying his psycho lover Pamela Isely, an extreme environmentalist and botanist. He too was sentanced to an asylum somewhere in Metropolis. Most of their work was illegal, and the southern wing often referred to as "Southern Hospitality" was shut down and turned into a museum for Dr. Arkham.

Creeping her way through the hallways, Reacher managed to find the main corridor and work her way towards the elevators. She remembered the highlights she stored away in her mind from her previous visit-places to help her find her way back through the asylum. Finally she found the elevators and crouched to the power box. Prying it open, she cut the wires with the tip of an arrow and managed to open the doors.

The shaft wasn't too far up from the basement. About fifty feet. Easy enough to climb down. Nodding, she grapped her jumpline bow and fired it open. It racketed up and collided with something above and she yanked on it, making sure it was secure. Satisified with her accomplishment, she let the line drop all the way down and grabbed hold of it.

Positioning herself over the gap, she placed her feet firmly against the shaft wall and began lowering herself down carefully. Her feet didn't make too loud of echoes down the shaft, but some. Beads of sweat dotted her brow, and she stopped at the basement door. Again she overrode the system and managed to get the door opened.

Leaving the line, she slipped to the left nad ducked behind a wall. Peeking around it, she found she was on the top flight of stairs, which was actually a balcony overlooking the actual basement of the asylum. Her eyes widened at what she saw, which was surprising. Creeping out from the wall, she ducked and rolled, disappearing into the darkness of the balcony. The lights were not on above her, so she was somewhat concealed.

Reaching into her thigh-belt, she pulled out a phone and began to snap pictures quietly. Inmates, both male and female, spilled gasoline cans full of liquid into a small opening in waters pipes, rushing beneath the cement floors. It was Gotham's main water supply, everyone knew it ran beneath Arkham, and it was securely fashioned beneath concrete. If it were ever to burst, Arkham would have to be completely torn down to fix the water supply. Not one of Dr. Arkham's brightest ideas. Orange jumpsuits scurried about everywhere, dumping the gasoline cans into the water. Alarm spiked inside her head and she tucked away the camera. She then shook her curls and headed back towards the elevator shaft. She stopped when she heard a conversation ensue.

"You think Scarecrow's gunna take over the whole city?" one of the men asked. A woman ran her bright red nails through her red hair and shrugged.

"Probably. There's enough of that crap to bring down half of Gotham. And you know the whole sayin'. Kill the head of the snake and you get the body..."

Reacher leaned forward to better hear the conversation, but she leaned too far over the balcony railing. Her quiver rattled as the arrows shifted forward, and one slipped over her shoulder. Fumbling to catch it, it slipped through her fingers and hit the floor with a clank between the two inmates. They looked up, but Reacher had already bolted for the corridor.

Rushing from the balcony, she hustled towards the elevator and grabbed onto her jumpline, only her hand grasped the air instead of the line. Surprised, she stumbled forward, but caught herself and looked down. Her jumpline had been removed. Wrinkling her brow, she heard fumbling voices and pounding footsteps echoing across the walls of the basement. There must've been at least six or seven sets, and she panicked. Whipping her head to look down the hallway, she again looked back and found the doorway filled with a huge frame of the red-headed woman. Reacher didn't hesitate and took off down the hallway to the left.

They followed after her. She whipped a hard left and then a right, finding herself at a stairwell. Taking them three at a time, she jumped over the railing and began climbing the next flight. Panting hard, they appeared at the bottom and screamed up at her, all of them barreling up the steps two at a time.

Whipping open another door, Reacher frantically looked around. She took off again when the red-head neared. She lashed out and grabbed Reacher's arm, flinging her up against the wall. She reached behind her for an arrow. She looked back to the woman and ducked, barreling herself into the woman's abdomen, slamming her into the adjacent wall. She ground the arrow into the plaster beside her head and kneed her in the gut. Taking off again, she grabbed another arrow and punched it into one of the wooden doors, it breaking into the wood and splintering it. Turning on her heel, she whipped around, throwing it open. It collided with another woman and she fell to the ground, a nice gash across her forehead.

Wasting no time, Reacher spun around and grabbed her bow and another arrow and fired it into the barreling group. It collided with a woman's knee, and she fell to the ground. Looking over her shoulder, she found a huge window and then looked back to the group. Reacher gulped and pivoted on her heel slamming her boot into the window. It shattered with a burst and rained down in her curls. Without hesitance, she tossed her body out before a huge man could wrap his arms around her waist.

She fell hard through the air, the ground approaching at rapid pace. With not time to grab her bow, she was ready for the inevitable. Pain would ensue shortly, if she even lived. Leslie would never forgive her for leaving a huge mess to clean up. She gulped and braced herself. Air whistled through her ears and the ground seemed to jump up at her as fast as it could. As soon as she thought she'd hit the ground, she stopped abruptly and was swung left.

Screaming burst from her lungs and she looked up. Batman looked down at her, face hard as a stone. His strong arm wrapped around her abdomen and pressed her close, and she looked over her shoulder. The inmates leaned out the next four windows shouting obseneties at them. Relief flooded through her and numbed her senses, but pain still pulsated through her body, though she hadn't collided with the ground. More shouting from below burst through the air, and then gunfire erupted.

It whizzed passed them, and Batman released the line, and they hurled towards the ground. She dropped her shoulder and hit the earth with a thud, pain spiking up her shoulder and causing her to gasp. He moaned and rolled over onto his side, gripping his shoulder with a thick glove. She whipped a looked behind them and helped him up, out of breath and limping.

"C'mon," she said huskily, out of breath and shaky, "We've got to lose them,"

"Crane is heading to the Narrows," he said with a raspy growl which almost was a groan, "We have to follow him."

She nodded. "Right now, I'm more worried about our hides."

Reacher helped him into the darkness, passing by heavy branches and stepping over shrubs. They hurried down the hill towards the back roads, where she'd come from. He protested and reached into his belt, pulling out a receiver. He pressed the button and something roared from the bushes overhead. Reacher looked over her shoulder and saw the bouncing lights of guards and the barking of big dogs. Piercing the trees ands shrubs up ahead, a huge, black looking tank appeared, rumbling in the darkness, no light eminating from it. She stopped as he hurried forward, the upper hatch opening. He climbed in, whisping his cape away from him and stared at her, offering a hand.

"It's faster than running." he replied huskily.

She nodded and jumped up. Falling through the hole, she yelped and fell into a cushioned seat, looking frantically around for any type of escape, if need be. All she found was a small glass slit for a window and a thousand buttons on the paneling around her. He fell into the driver's seat and activated a few things, then surpressed the clutch and shifted into drive. She watched him intently as he manuevered the massive tank over the hill and right passed the guards and threatening inmates. He spun out on the dirt and hit the pavement of the parking lot, rumbling over a few cars and revving the engine. Batman manuevered the machine down the small driveway and sped up. The guards and men eventually gave up as the asylum faded from view.

Reacher gripped the sides of her seat and glared at him, mouth bursting with questions before she could think of possibly offering a thank you. "What are you doing here?"

"I had lead," he said thickly, "Marianne. She mentioned something about Scarecrow, a man who is obsessed with fear. I linked him up with Jonathan Crane."

"Jonathan Crane?" she asked, astounded. How on earth had he figured that out so quickly? I'd taken her almost three months to even track down the Scarecrow, much less pin down his identity. Her mouth dropped open then she shook her curls in confusion. "Wait-are you sure? Jonathan's a dedicated scientist. I know he's strange, but-"

"-but nothing. He's onto something," he began, "what you seen was just a fraction of what they've been pouring into the city. It has something to do with Falcone's drug shipments."

She wrinkled her brow. "How do you know? Did you talk to Crane?"

He looked at her and turned right. "No. I came here after we were finished arguing. Crane said something about picking up the drugs in the Narrows. He took kerosine with him. Whatever he's picking up, he's getting rid of the evidence."

"What about Falcone?"

Batman sighed and reached up to the dashboard and punched in a code. A door opened and revealed some papers, along with some photograps and a familair Shuriken-all of which he handed back to her. She accepted them and looked at the Shuriken and then back at him. He looked away instantly as a smile played on her lips. Shuffling through the papers, she found one of Jonathan's casefiles marked Falcone, Carmine.

She read aloud. "_At 2000 on the 16th day of September, Carmine Falcone declared clinically insane by court order of Judge Faden. The patient was transfered to Arkham Asylum for further treatment under Doctor Jonathan Crane..._" her eyes widened as she looked throught he rest, scanning over it. She slapped the page and looked back at Batman. "How on earth did he ever convince Judge Faden to declare Falcone insane? That's ridiculous! Everyone knows Falcone was sane from the moment he was tagged!"

Batman nodded and pointed to the page in her other hand, glancing at her and then the road again. "Judge Faden. There's our man. Look at the history of the court orders for the passed six weeks. Crane's visited with each patient, examined them, and then Faden declared them insane and to be charged under Jonathan. Most of the big names."

Reacher frowned. "Why? What exactly does Crane want with a bunch of big name criminals? It doesn't make sense."

"All I can think of is to form an allience of somekind," Batman rasped darkly, "with major crime lords around Gotham. Why, I don't know."

She fell back into the seat. She watched out the slit of glass, silent. The papers sat on her lap, her mind whirring with possibilities. Carmine Falcone insane? It couldn't be. She didn't understand what Jonathan would want with a bunch of big names to work on. He had other patients, why these? Not for money; the government gave him all he needed through funding. She shook her head and pressed her gloved fingers into her temple.

"Hey," he said thickly. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah," she snorted sarcastically, "I'd be a pile of mush if you hadn't shown up. Thanks."

He nodded slightly. "Your work is good, Reacher. You're smart. I watched your hand to hand." he held her gaze for a moment, "You have potential. You need training, but you have potential."

She raised her brow. "Really. I don't believe it," she tossed her hands into the air, "one minute you don't trust me, the next you're rescuing me like prince charming. And now you're complimenting me!" she rolled her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "You really make it hard for me to hate you."


	12. Hankyu

**Chapter Eleven**

The rest of the drive was made in silence. Reacher's remark had stilled Batman's tongue for the moment. As she rested her elbow on the door, careful to miss the mass confusion of buttons all around her, she looked out the window-slit and watched the scenery of the outskirts of Gotham fly by as he manuevered this tank throughout the woodsy parts of the city. It seemed he knew where every turn and alleyway led to, right up until they passed the city limits. Then he could practically do it with his eyes closed. Reacher didn't really make note of his expertise in driving, she pondered her thoughts and tried to settle the fire bubbling like lava in her belly.

It was funny what this man did to her. While she strived to become better than him, she almost knew she couldn't ever live up to his expectations. She felt like a dog jumping to get a steak tied thirty feet above her head-while she was the experienced one of this trap, he already had her outwitted from the start. His skill was the steak, and she was the yapping dog trying to get her master to comply. She hated him for it. Reacher hated this game of cat and mouse, her always ending up the weak little mouse in the end.

And yet, she absolutely couldn't get enough of his presence. He radiated everything that was right for Gotham-justice, honor, strength. His skill was what Gotham needed. Reacher realized as she sat beside him that God could even use the darkest characters to be the shining light a lost, ashen city needed. Perhaps he was the spark she would need to fully ignite this city. Maybe, just maybe, Batman would be the man to help her rise up.

Because she would rise.

He slowed the tank down and she snapped back into reality. Shaking her curls to awaken herself from her thoughts, she tossed a look at him, but found he was staring at her curiosly. She wrinkled her brow behind her venetian mask and blinked at him, as if waiting for a reply. "What? Are you offended or something?"

He clicked a few buttons on the dash closest to his side and a compartment popped open. He retrieved some of his fancy Shurikens, and began to place them throughout the compartments on his belt. She watched his movements as he closed the dash again and it locked down. Pressing a few more buttons, he looked back to her and his face bore a blank expression-whatever much of his face she could see. "I don't take offense easily."

"That's good. I can..." her voice trailed a moment as she reached across his hand, which sat stationary on the gear-stick, "...be pretty offending sometimes." With a few presses, she had the dash open again and plucked some of his weapons from the compartment. Putting them inside her thigh belt, she took the last one and held it in her thumb and index finger, wiggling it and smiling devilishly. "You're not the only one with brains in this city, Bats."

He nodded slightly. "Impressive. A good memory serves for good defense." Pressing a few buttons more and then flipping a lever, the compartment door above them open with a clank. He reached up and grabbed the ledge of the door and pulled himself up quickly. She did the same and surveyed the area, looking down the alleyway he'd parked in. She blinked a few times and found he'd parked adjacent from her apartment building. Looking at him, he stood still in the shadows next to the vehicle, cape surrounding his entire frame in a inky array. "Get what you need. I'll wait here."

She frowned at him and jumped off the tank, hitting the ground gracefully. "Who said I needed anything?" Reacher mentally chastised herself. She needed to stop this aimless argumentative conversation and act like an adult. He stared at her sharply.

"Everyone needs something." he rasped. Then with a quick movement, he disappeared into the tank with a leap and was gone. She huffed and rolled her eyes, and then scanned the area of the apartment complex. It seemed quiet enough, except for the children running across the street and kicking a tin can around for fun. A dog barked higher up-probably her Curley. A smile painted onto her lips and she was about to imerge when deafness struck her ears and fire burned across her eyes.

_BOOM!_

Her body seemed to have been kicked by a giant. Reacher flew backwards a good twenty feet, right into the windshield of Batman's vehicle. Fire blazed around her entire body, sucking the oxygen from her lungs and filling them with burning smoke. Her head cracked against the window on impact and her abdomen exploded with pain. She felt the stitched let loose and blood began spilling from her body. She moaned and tried to sit up, but she couldn't move. Reacher's ears rang like two bells had invaded her ears which completely botched all hope of balance. She blinked agains the black dots dancing across her vision and stared at the fuzzy blob or orange and yellow heat blaring a good 100 feet ahead of her. She didn't notice that the tank shifted as Batman practically flew from the inside.

He appeared below her, on the ground, and forced himself up on the hood of his massive vehicle. Pain seemed to have replaced the blood in her veins, because every nerve within her shook with pinpricks of it. Reacher hadn't noticed she'd began to tremble, and she couldn't hear her sobs pierce the air around her, which was crackling with the burning wood of the buildings around them. Her screams couldn't match the hissing flames licking up all signs of life in the broken, crumbling building.

Her vision had cleared now, and some of her hearing had already began to improve. She heard the faintness of sirens in the nearby distance, an Batman's yelling commands were loud to her. Her apartment complex had completely vanished in an instant; all that was left was the foundation and the tumbling blocks of cement and brick being licked by flames. The other two buildings suffered massive damage, half of the one was gone and the other was already on fire. Batman put hand behind her back and helped her sit up. She fought him tooth and nail, screaming at him to leave her alone and get his hands off her. Placing a hand to her side, she fell off the front of the vehicle and hit the ground hard. Her chin smacked against the concrete and blood burst forth from her mouth. Sobs racked her body and claimed the air in her lungs. She hit the ground with a fist and pushed herself up as best she could.

"NO!" she screamed hard, sore burning with smoke and lack of oxygen, "NO! No! God, please, NO!" Batman's two arms wrapped around her and she thrashed against him. He held her tightly and began walking back towards the tank. "Curls! NO! He's in there, I have to-" he swung her around and grabbed her shoulders, shouting back at her roughly.

"Reacher! We have to go!" he thrusted a finger towards the street. "_They_ can't see us here!" she scowled at him and pushed him away from her, then spun on her heel and took off down the alley. Sobs erupted from her chest, swirling around her mind and clouding her thought. Batman was faster than she was and attacked her from behind, tackling her and pressing her body to the hard ground roughly. His elbow dug into her shoulders and he forced aside her quiver, body on top of her now. Grabbing her arms, he clasped his rough hands around her wrists and wrestled her. Finally, something sharp struck the skin of her neck and she realized it was a syringe needle. Finally Reacher just screamed and sobbed, forcing her forehead to touch the cool earth beneath her. The next thing she knew, he was whispering in her ear.

"We have to go," he rasped darkly, "we don't want to be seen around here when they begin and investigation. That's the last thing we need."

She didn't reply. When he knew she'd stopped thrashing, he got up and helped her to her feet, but she stumbled foreward again. Reacher forced her waning attention to the burning building, watching as the firemen and police officers began to work. People began lining the streets and pointing fingers at the crackling flames. Her strength failed and her legs came out from under her. Her mind began to cloud. His arm swung behind her back and he ducked his other to come up under her legs. Instantly he swept her up as if she were nothing and spun on his heel. He began to head towards the tank again, and through her fading vision she saw the firemen begin to shower the flames in white, bulleting water.

Blackness stuck her eyes.

* * *

Reacher awoke later, what she assumed to be many hours. Hoping for daylight, she was distressed to find that she was indeed still in Batman's confining prison of a vehicle. Her head was throbbing like a war drum and still seemed cloudy. Pressing a hand to her forehead, she moaned and inhaled a breath. The interior of his tank smelled of leather, kevlar and smoke. She dared a look in the window and chuckled lightly at her appearance. Filthy, from head to toe. A bandage wrapped around her head, and she felt in the back. Gauze covered some type of stitching, she assumed it was his handiwork. Stealing another look out the slit window, she frowned and slammed her heel into the floorboards. Surprisingly, no pain shot up her abdomen. Actually, she had no pain at all.

The Narrows glared at her, surrounding her prison, taunting her despite her seclusion. Looking around the car, she immediately began to plot her escape. No way was Batman about to drop her here and solve this himself. It was her mission, just as it was his, and he was lucky she was actually sharing this case with him. Feeling around the roof with her hands, she found no creases, no ledges, nothing. Instantly Reacher began to push buttons and pull levers, but the vehicle remained motionless and dead. She frowned and shrugged back into her seat. He'd sealed her up good, that was for sure.

Something caught her attention on the dash. Paper, with two pills and a bottle sitting on top of it, scrawled in handwriting which only belonged to him. He grabbed the note and then the pills, scanning over it quickly before downing the medication.

_**To clear the cloudiness. The bottle is xyma; a plant cream. Apply generously.**_

Rolling her eyes, she crumpled the note and slid the cylinder looking bottle in her thigh poutch. Now to escape this prison. Slipping over the gear-stick, she took the driver's seat and began to mess with a couple of the buttons. Nothing yet. She shook her head and looked around the dash and the panel to her left, then spotted the mystery to the entire lock-down. The control panel was commanded by a keypad, numbered one through nine. She chuckled and pressed in the code she'd caught earlier that evening. Immediately the vehicle came to life as the buttons and lights activated, all the systems showing ready and waiting. She chuckled at herself and murmured.

"You still got it good,"

Flicking a few switches, the hatch overtop opened quickly. Grasping the ledges, she hurled herself up and balanced on the outer rim. Before she could leave, she spotted a receiver behind the driver's seat head-rest. It was small, with a touchscreen, a small button in the lower right corner. She pressed it and instantly the entire vehicle shut down again, darkness overtaking the interior. She smirked and tucked it into her sleeve, then patted the hood of the massive tank.

Backflipping off, she grabbed the receiver again she touched the screen. It lit up with a map of Gotham, and she spotted a green blinking 'X' somewhere to the southside. She zoomed in on the 'X' and found it was a tracer, because it moved consistantly. The blinking letter dodged the boxy buildings and zigged the streets, and she laughed, slapping her free hand against her thigh. He knew she was going to get out, and he had decided to play nice.

He was moving fast, about twelve blocks east at this moment. Not terribly far away. She figured he was going the pace of Crane and his henchmen. It would give her enough time to catch up with him and perhaps form a plan of attack. She-actually, they-needed to know what Crane was up to, why all the major crime lords were suddenly deemed 'insane', and what was going into the water system. There were plenty of catagories to get Crane to talk about. It wouldn't be a dull night.

Reacher ran most of the twelve blocks. At the tenth she decided to take to the rooftops, seeing as this part of the Narrows was heavily populated. She couldn't risk any more "side missions", and decided that her appearance, as well as experience earlier this evening, wouldn't probably do the citizens any good if someone called her in at the cop shop. So, she jumped alleys and crawled fire-escapes, until she perched ontop of a huge air conditioning unit and spotted his dark sillouette overlooking the street across from them.

"Fancy seeing you here," she whispered into the wind. He made no move to acknowledge her presence and she joined him. Squatting, she pressed her fingers agains the rooftop to balance herself and wrinkled her brow as she scanned the empty streets. "Any sign of Crane?"

"No," he spat deeply, "he'll be here. I see you're doing better."

She nodded. "Yup. What'd you drug me with?"

"Isoflurane. It's an-"

"-inhalation drug," she nodded slowly, extending a finger outward to pinpoint an oncoming Mercedez Bens, with no license plate. "I know most of them."

He followed her gloved finger. "That's them. What do they want with a populated complex?"

"I dunno," she replied casually, standing and reaching behidn her for an arrow and her bow. "Let's find out, shall we?"

He rolled his eyes and reached out, grabbing the bow and lowering her aim. "This is faster. And it also doesn't waste a jumpline." he grabbed the grapnel gun and fired it, releasing the lever and extending a hand. "You should really get one."

She sighed and took his hand.

They leapt off the roof together and soared through the air, closing the gap nicely. They released and hit the ground lightly. Ducking into the shadows, they knelt and he removed something from his belt and handed it to her. She looked at him strangely.

"What is this?"

He took it from her and fastened it securely to the kevlar hem of her mask. "A com-link. We'll be able to communicate."

She raised her brows behind the mask. "Oh, so we're partners now? I thought we still hated each other's guts."

He dropped his hands and gave her a smirk. "For the record, I never hated your guts. You hated mine, remember?"

He took off for cover in the alley. Within an instant she followed, Batman going on down the alley a little farther. Reacher attacked a balcony and swung herself up like a gymnast on monkey bars. Both of them climbed easily until they were at the same level as Crane and his men. Batman peered in one of the windows and she continued her climb until she mounted the roof and surveyed him. He looked up and pointed to the window and she nodded. He was going inside. She, basically, was his eyes.

_"You hear me okay?" _his line was fuzzy for a moment and she touched hers. Instantly the line cleared and she nodded to herself, kneeling at the ledge of the building, looking down into the alley.

"Loud and clear. Any sign of the drugs Falcone was delivering? Flass said the Narrows, remember?"His footsteps were barely noticable over the line, but she could still hear them. He rustled a few things and something toppled over. He cursed lightly, and she frowned.

_"Yeah. I see some of the rabbits and bears, but nothing else. It looks like an abandoned home. A lot of-" _he was cut off instantly. Faint voices in the backround startled him, and she heard him hitch a breath-a sign that he had ducked for cover and concealed himself. Reacher readied herself and touched the com again, eyes scanning the area. The voices increased as they neared.

A few moments of his breathing passed, and Reacher found herself tossing desperate prayers for his survival up to heaven. She breathed steadily, waiting for any signal he might throw out to her for help. She heard whistling, probably the henchmen, and then a yelp and shattering glass. Something thudded to the ground and she realized it wasn't Batman, because numberous amounts of punches, kicks and dropping bodies ensued over the line. She found herself smiling everytime another body collided with the ground.

Then, a scrambled voice said something to in regards to Batman. He must've not had enough time to react, because a pop and then a hiss startled her. She gasped and looked down, gripping the edge of the building and looking over. Batman began to groan and hiss and mumble to himself, and she heard him trip over a few things. He made breathy gasps and huffs, as if fighting something. She panicked and placed a palm on the roof, then swung her body over the ledge. Grabbing her bow, she held her arm up and the two curved ends collided with two fire-escapes, stopping her between the gap. Swinging her legs, she managed to wrap them around a rail and twirled the bow to release the hold. Instantly her upper half dropped, but she sat up and grabbed the railing, forcing herself upright and she replaced her bow.

She heard Crane saw, voice scrambled. _"You really need to lighten up."_

"Lighten up?" she mimicked. Swinging over the railing, she touched her link and furrowed her lbrow. "Batman? What's the probl-"

Overhead, shattering glass pierced the air and a grunt overtook the link. Reacher looked up and screamed, seeing Batman's falling body combine with the pieces of broken glass raining down to the earth. His flaming body alarmed her, and she lunged for the railing. Extending a hand, she grabbed onto his leg as it passed by her quickly, but failed to counter act the gravitational pull. She toppled over the railing and began to fall with him.

Screaming, she noticed he wasn't making any noise at all. This worried her, and she wasn't about to let them fall to their death. Grabbing the bow with her free hand, she reached up again and it managed to catch on two more balconies on the way down. Now only about six feet from the ground, she moaned as his weight pulled on her shoulder. Looking up, she squinted her eyes and twisted the bow, releasing her and him until they fell to a pile on the earth. Flames licked at both of them, but she noticed it failed to harm him. Their suits must've been fireproof, but that didn't stop her from rolling him side to side until the flames were extinguished.

"Batman!" she hollared at him, slapping his exposed skin with her glove. "Batman! What's the problem!?" she demanded. The doctor in her noticed his pupils were dialated and he wasn't fighting the air anymore-he was fighting and swatting at her now. His face was pale and he was sweating, a sign that he was hallucinating. His short, breathy gasps told her he was in desperate need of oxygen before he suffocated. His airway was constricting faster than he could calm down, even if he could calm down.

People were gathering on the balconies. Sweat poured down her back and her gauze was saturated with sweat, as was her hair. She panted for breath, and looked around. They had to get back to the tank before the cops arrived. Reacher wasn't paying attention to the flailing vigilante as much as she was the onlookers, and his fist collided with her chin. She yelped and hit the ground, catching herself with her hands. Swinging around, one hands still on the ground, her boot-heel connected with his chin and he went down with a moan. She gasped and straigthened, forcing the two of them up. It was hard to help such a heavy, tall man down the alleyway away from wandering eyes and comments, but she managed barely.

The two of them had barely made from the alleyway when he hollared and pushed her away. With his last surge of adrenaline, he reached into his belt and somehow managed to pull out a communicator and pressed one. She watched him collided with the concrete and put the communicator to his mouth, and his dialated eyes did not leave hers as he screamed into the phone. Her legs turned to jelly and her eyes widened, all heat rapidly raging from her body and into the air. She couldn't feel her heart beating any longer, and her head turned cloudy again. "Alfred!"

She dropped to the earth beside him, knees ringing with unfelt pain for the moment.

"Alfred!"

Her throat constricted and Reacher's mouth turned completely dry. That's couldn't be Alfred _Pennyworth_. Not her Alfred. Certainly not Bruce's Alfred. Her eyes widened again as he spoke one last time in the phone, before letting it fall from his hand and going unconscious.

Her stomach lurched and her heart seized.


	13. Hen Feather

**Chapter Twelve**

_"ALFRED!"_

It was like a screaming animal was running circles through her brain.

_"ALFRED!"_

His haunting screams played through her nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. It made her eyes burn with unfamiliar tears. Confusion plagued her stomach like a disease, rotting through her body with rapid pace, almost like fire burning away all feeling she might've possessed in her being. Everyone of her muscles felt like jelly, her throat raw as if it'd been skinned and drained of all moisture. She hated this feeling of enigma and mystery, of uncertainty and desperation. Her knees felt like they'd been ripped from underneath her.

"B-B..." her mouth couldn't form the words, nor could her voice put them into life. She shook her curls, world spinning before her eyes, tears making the skin beneath her mask burn uncomfortably. She barely noticed the people begin to emerge from the homes, the children running towards them in flocks. She lunged for the hallucinating, twitching vigilante and grabbed him roughly with her gloved hands. Yanking hard, she pulled him up and hoisted most of his weight onto her shoulder. She stumbled forward, overwhelmed with his mass amount of weight, the choking sobs erupting within her throat. She gasped as one pressed through her lips and struck the air with deafening reality. "Oh God," she sucked in a breath, "Dear God..."

He began to thrash violently while she carried him, huffing and grumbling and mumbling. He pushed out breaths of desperation, as if he were suffocating. Her shoulders began to twitch from his overbearing weight, but she stumbled into the shadows and down into a musky, dank alleyway. Reacher collapsed, dropping him to the cement and sinking to her haunches. She grabbed at her curls and pulled hard, the pain ringing numbly through her skull. Her face distorted and she let out a sob, falling to her bottom and resting against the damp, dirty wall. She began to hysterically cry, watching the man before her grasp onto the only sanity he had left within his mind.

Down the alleyway, towards the mouth she'd entered in, a black Bently screeched to an abrupt hault and the driver's door whipped open. A distinguished looking man with greying, receding hair rushed around the front of the car, looked both ways and hustled down the alley. Reacher immediately jumped her guard and grabbed an arrow. She slashed it from her grasp, fell forward and caught herself with her hands. The man yelp and drop to the ground out of defense.

"Don't shoot!" he exclaimed. A British accent rang from his mouth and pierced her ears, as if one of her own arrows had slammed into the skull of her head. She whipped her head up and blinked her tears back, then lunged forward towards him. That voice soothed all of her worries, as if it were a balm generously applied to the deep gash across her heart. "Please, miss, don't shoo-"

"Alfred!" she exclaimed desperately, "Alfred! Oh dear God, Alfred!" she attacked him in a giant hug, practically toppling him to the ground again with her massive greeting. Startled, the man pulled back from her and stared at her quizzically. Another cry burst from her lungs. "Oh, Alfred..."

His brows rose a few inches from his wrinkled face. "Dear God..." he looked up to the sky for a moment then seized her shoulders with a rough grasp, "Mari..._Marianne_?" he sounded shocked and she nodded quickly, looking around. "Is that you?"

Practically ripping the mask off her face, she nodded frantically and tossed her curls aside. "Yes, yes, it's me!" she left him and rushed towards Batman, replaced her mask, and dipped low to grab his shoulders. He'd stopped moving now, resigning to a lethargic state. Alfred hurried to assist her.

"Good Lord, what happened?" he asked quickly. He stooped low and then draped Batman's other shoulder across his own. "Has he been poisoned?"

"I don't know," she whispered thickly, "we have to get him home. We don't have much time." she stopped and grabbed his chin with her gloved hands, tilted her head to the side, and looked into his deepened, dark, glazed eyes. "Do not worry, my love," she whispered into his cowl, "you will live. I promise you, you will live."

Reacher seated herself in the backseat of the Bently, pulling Bruce's head onto her lap and frantically searching for a way to remove his mask. Her hands held a terrible tremble she could not stop, and Alfred whirled around from the front seat and reached inside the cowl. He did something and it released, and she ripped the mask from his face and gazed upon his sweating, paled skin. She touched it and gasped. Alfred handed her a syringe from the glove compartment, and she looked at him.

"A blood sample," he whispered quietly, "we need one if he's been poised. Lucius will run statistics for us at Wayne Enterprises." she took the syringe and pushed it back, then inserted it into his neck to draw blood. The scarlet stained the glass tubing as she pulled it back. Once finished, she pressed her gloved fingers against the spot and plugged the small needlestick. Tears dripped down her cheeks slowly and onto her suit.

"I'm sorry," she whispered quietly, pressing her lips against his clammy forehead. "I'm so sorry..."

* * *

Pain.

Deep, searing pain cascaded through his body like a burning wave of fire. It seemed to spread its fingers over his mind and whisper lies into his subconscious. It took the face of his mother and his father, trickling in and out of his memories. All their faces did was aid the pain in overtaking his body by sheer force. No matter how much he thrashed and fought the night, his strength could not overcome the pain staking his body. It was like a battlefield, consistently fighting to slowly decompose everything he once remembered in daylight. He was enveloped by cold, fear and pain. It was all he was.

Then, somewhere in the night, periodically, there was peace. It rushed his veins with warmth and desire, though this unknown tranquility was faceless and nameless unto him. He could barely remember it before it came, could barely feel it before it left. But what Bruce Wayne did know that it took on the most beautiful, relieving task able to give unto him. He prayed for its arrival daily. And daily it came.

He awoke sometime during the morning, because warm light pounded his skin like a war-drum. It played tricks with his mind, telling him that it was searing white pain that had come to destroy him from the outside in. But, this warmth he knew was sunlight, come to redeem him from the dark fear he'd resided in for what seemed like centuries.

The outline sitting before him was that of a man, he could tell. As his sight began to clear and come back into focus, he realized the receding hairline and snowy colored fluff on his head reminded him of Alfred. He blinked and pushed aside the covers, relying on the warm sunlight to bring him comfort. He shielded his eyes with a shaky arm and looked around the room. A small, cylindrical glass was given to him, freshly stirred with sometype of concoction. He accept it and wrapped his stiff fingers around the glass. Bringing it slowly to his lips, he gulped it down quickly. His eyes burned with redness upon recognition of sunlight. His cheeks were thick with salty trails of...tears?

He handed the glass slowly back to Alfred. "How long was I out?"

Alfred set the glass down carefully, pulling one leg up on the other knee. "Two days. It's your birthday."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Happy birthday," he said sarcastically. "I've felt these effects before. Whatever this is very potent. I think it's a weaponized hallucinogen, probably administered by aerosol form."

"Bruce?" the soft knock on the door sounded lightly, and both men jumped to attention. Bruce leapt onto the bed and poised himself as if it were a threat, but once Alfred seated himself again he relaxed. Confused, Bruce wrinkled his brow and turned to his friend.

"What are you doing up there?" the female voice echoed across the room blazingly. Bruce whirled around and stared wide-eyed at woman he'd been dreaming of for days now. He feared she'd never speak to him again. But here she was. A smile pierced her lips. "You're not planning to jump me, are you?"

"Marianne?" he questioned, stepping off the edge of the bed. "What are you doing here?" He looked back to Alfred and wrinkled his brow. Alfred gestured to his friend and smiled cheekily at him.

"I called the good doctor after you're condition worsened. She's been here for two days. She and-"

"-you really know how to pick the clubs, don't you, Mr. Wayne?"

The dark man appeared from the door, hands in his khaki pockets, greying hair terribly misplaced with the black color of his skin. His smirk was also displaced, completely displaced with his intelligent, gentlemanlike personality. Lucius Fox stood beside Alfred, placing one hand on the back of his chair.

Bruce looked back at Marianne. "What...?"

"I called Mr. Fox after I couldn't flush your system with saline and antihallucinogens. He analyzed your blood for me." she turned to him. "And did hours worth of work to produce an antidote. Really, Mr. Fox was the one who saved you."

Bruce stared at her, perhaps the happiest man alive to see her standing before him. He didn't notice he was half naked from the waist up, but she didn't seem to care either. Bruce just took in her presence and he felt tears threatening to burst from his eyes. He forced them back and stepped towards her, completely astounded that she'd come back to him. It seemed all air had been taken from the room and from his lungs.

She tilted her head to the side and outstretched an arm, placing her palm against his cheek and stroking her jawline with her thumb. Black circles rounded her eyes and exhaustion tugged at her features, but he'd never dreamed of seeing an angel so...beautiful before. How could he have missed her? "What on earth did you take, Bruce?" she whispered quietly, "It almost killed you."

"I'm fine," he said back hastily. He jerked away from her and turned to Fox. "So. This antidote. Can you make more of it?"

Fox's brow rose a few inches. "You plan on gassing yourself again?"

Marianne stepped between him and Alfred and looked up at him, pushing up her glasses farther on her nose. Her brow wrinkled in confusion and she looked at him with confusion dotting her features. "Bruce? What on earth do you need more of it for?"

"You know," he gave her his famous half smile and touched her shoulder, stepped around her, and approached Fox again. "A guy's on the town, looking for kicks, and someone hand him a weaponized hallucinogen. What's the world come to these days?"

Fox chuckled. "I'll bring you what I have. But, for now it should work for an inoculation. Stay away from the unmarked labels, will you, Mr. Wayne? You could get yourself hurt, you know." He clapped a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "A pleasure, Alfred."

"Lucius."

Fox approached Marianne and smiled at her and took her hand playfully. Touching her knuckles to his lips, he stared at her and winked. "Thank you for your assistance, doctor. You're a quick learner. Stop by if you ever need anything."

Bruce frowned and Marianne blushed. "I sure will, Mr. Fox. Thank you for your help. You're a lifesaver."

He winked again. "I know. See you later, doctor."

He exited and left the three of them alone. Marianne tightened the sash of her a periwinkle satin robe and raised her brows as if she were looking for an excuse. She smiled tightly and turned on her heel. "I'll go make some tea. You," she pointed a threatening finger at him, "better be in bed when I get back. Sleep is your best friend for now. Especially when you have a party tonight."

He rolled his eyes sarcastically. "You're worse than my mother."

She chuckled and leaned against the heavy oak door. "I know. Alfred, the caterers want to know what china to serve on. The royal blue or the pearl senate. I'll leave those minions to you." She wiggled her fingers and exited quietly. "Bed. Now."

He plopped down on the bed, feigning defeat. "Fine." she disappeared and he shot up, hurrying for the door. He leaned against the frame, crossed his arms over his bare chest, and crossed one foot over the other. Marianne stopped and looked over her shoulder. "Marty,"

She turned. "Yeah?"

He gave her a shy smile and swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. What I said-it's...wrong. I know Dad would want me to be more forgiving, it's just..."

She stopped him with a soft smile. "Sometimes we learn things the hard way, even if it means God tossing us a hardball once and awhile. I'm praying for you, Bruce, and that's all I know what to do."

He blinked at her and then ran his fingers through his hair. "Thanks. For, well, everything, Marty. I don't know where I'd be without you."

She laughed and wrapped her arms around her stomach. "You'd be..." she chuckled and shrugged a shoulder. "you'd be right about where you are now. I'm nothing special, Bruce. I'm just...here."

She turned on her heel and headed down the flights of stairs, just as quietly as she'd come.

* * *

Alfred joined me in the kitchen shortly after Bruce and I's "talk" in the hall. I assumed his presence meant that Bruce had retreated back into bed to rest. I was relieved of this and somewhat angered. The least the man could do was come and talk to me after having spent two days living at his side. I guess I could forgive him that, especially after he'd so humbly apologized for his behavior.

It was much harder to forgive him for his secrets.

I shrugged my emotions off and glanced up from my lunch preparation to find Alfred smile at me and shoo away the last of the women waitresses preparing for the birthday dinner. She obliged, taking the case of lime green and white candles. The swinging door fell back into place shortly after she left. Alfred began to wash a dish in the ceramic, old-fashioned sink.

"Alfred," I said curtly, biting my tongue the next instant. This man did not deserve my disappointment and anger. What he deserved my questions and my investigation.

"Marianne." he said calmly. "I'm afraid I have some explaining to do."

I set the fork down beside my bowl of Ramen and took it up, plopping myself on the counter and grabbing the fork. Lunging it into the bowl of steaming noodles, I began to twirl the metal and gather the mound of noodles for a bite. "You bet you do. Begin before I slash you're throat and go up there and remove Bruce's...vital appendages."

Alfred chuckled. "I know this is alot to take in, Miss, but-"

"Alfred!" I interjected quickly. "Alot to take in? My gosh, the man is _Batman!_ Feared, hysterical, _dangerous _Batman! He's been running around Gotham half-cocked and here I thought he was some ninja or something!" I rolled my eyes and pointed a fork at him. "I'm assuming he was training in Tibet for this, wasn't he?"

The distinguished gentleman clasped his hands in front of him. "I do believe he was training, Miss. For Batman, I'm not so confident. I think Master Bruce was finding himself, much like another young lady I know who took to the deserts of Australia to squash down her...heart, for lack of a better word."

I scowled at he Englishman. "That is different, Alfred. I was distressed over Bruce's sudden disappearance. And not only that, I had that lined up long before he ever left. Reacher...she began the aftermath of the entire desert. She became _me_." I pointed the fork towards myself. "He became _Batman._ There is an entire difference here. I control Reacher." I jabbed the utensil back into the bowl of noodles. I twirled it around and looked into the steam, then straight ahead to the mahogany cabinets lining the kitchen.

"So?"

I closed my eyes and forced back more tears, "I fear that..." I swallowed back a sob, "...I fear that Batman controls Bruce."

Alfred tipped his head to the side and clucked his tongue against his teeth. I set the bowl down out of aggravation and slid off the counter and covered my face with my palms. Tears dripped between my fingers and before I knew it, Alfred enveloped me in a tender, father like hug. I rested my forehead against his chest and inhaled his gentle scent.

"Now my dear," Alfred cooed softly, "Bruce can handle his creation. And God can handle Bruce," he tipped my chin back and stared into my eyes, confidence and encouragement radiating from his own. "all you must do is wait. God never gives anything more than we can handle. At least, that's what you're mother always said."

I nodded. "I know," I whispered. "But Batman is so...fierce. Unmoving. I thought Bruce was more moldable than that."

"Bruce is many things," Alfred chuckled. Then he tilted his head and smiled gently. "but he is not beyond hope."

"Does he have any idea...?"

Alfred shook his head. "Not a clue. He's wondering about Reacher, though. What shall I tell him?"

I stepped away from him and took up my bowl. Fishing a fork-full of the cooling Ramen into my mouth, we both turned as the echoing bells rang from the foyer. Turning back to Alfred, I set the bowl down and sucked a run-away noodle between my lips. Wiping my chin with the cuff of the satin robe, I swung open the doors and looked to the ceiling.

"Tell him Reacher is never far away."

Then I hurried to the foyer. Leaving Alfred to care for the caterers, I grabbed the knob on the door and hurled it open. I was surprised to find Rachel standing before me, in a plain black suit, purse strap over one shoulder. I noticed her Ford was still running outside. She tipped her head to the side and immediately attacked me in a hug. "Marianne!" she hugged me tightly and I did the same to her. "Gosh, I heard what happened! Are you okay?" she touched my cheek as if she were my mother and hugged me tightly again. "You weren't hurt in the fire, were you?"

I shook my head. Forgotten tears sprang to my eyes as I thought of my crackling home, lost to the unforgiving, relentless flames of an explosion. Pain tugged at my heart as I thought of my poor friend Curley...a sob escaped me in a breath. "No, I'm okay," I sighed shakily, "I'm okay."

"I tried to call but you must've lost your phone," she said with a soft smile. "Where's your car?"

Oh, yeah. I'd forgotten my precious Outback. "Vandalized," I said quietly. "Rach, I don't understand," I hated lying to my friend, but I couldn't really outright tell her the truth without compromising my identity. So, I sucked in another shaky breath and scratched my wrist. "all these things..."

"Rachel?"

We both looked behind me to see Bruce rubbing his eye with his wrist and stumbling through the foyer. I wrinkled my brow and frowned at him, swiping at my eyes with my wrist and erasing the tears from my complexion. She smiled at him and placed a hand in her pocket and left it here. I stepped aside and let him join our now triangle of friendship. Just like the old times. Memories flooded my head and attacked my emotions brutally. He couldn't keep his eyes off her, as usual, and I was the third wheel. Rachel, well...she was Rachel.

"Looks like you've been busy." she chuckled. "You look exhausted."

He shrugged a shoulder, grinning handsomely. "It's my birthday."

She nodded tenderly. "I know. I'm sorry I can't come tonight. I'm just dropping off your present." she pulled her hand from her pocket, exposing a small box tied with blue ribbon. I stared at it in confusion and then jerked my attention back to them. She was about to speak when an annoying chirp burst from her pocket. She retrieved the phone and flipped it open.

"Dawes." There was a brief pause as she switched from sweet, funny Rachel into serious, lawyer mode. "What!? Who authorized that? No, no, get Crane down there right now-don't take no for an answer, Craig...call Dr. Lehmann," she stole a quick look at me. "Never mind. Get Crane down there, and I'll bring a doctor. We'll need our own assessment on the Judge's desk by morning." she slapped the phone shut and cocked her hip, looking at me as if I'd transformed into a dog for her to use. "Marty..."

"What's wrong?" Bruce asked tentatively.

I wrapped my arms tighter around my abdomen, ignoring the tenderness where my gunshot wound was healing. "Oh no..."

"It's Falcone. Dr. Crane's moved him to Arkham on suicide watch." She stared at me heavily. "I need a doctor's assessment by morning, Marty."

Bruce looked worried I gulped. The last time I'd journeyed to Arkham uninvited I'd almost ended up a burger on the tarmac below. And I really had no respectful thing to say to Jonathan-I'd have all I could do not to pin him beneath me and scratch his eyeballs from his skull. But, I sighed and shrugged a shoulder. "What? You're going to Arkham now?" he asked aggressively. "It's in the Narrows, Rachel."

She tossed him and look and then me one. "Marty. Please. This is important."

I sighed and scratched my scalp. "I'm going to regret this. Fine. I don't have any clothes, thought, Rachel..."

"Wait, what? You're _both _going down to the Narrows? No way. Marty, you've already been shot once and-"

Rachel's eyes widened. "Shot!? What? Marty, oh Lord are you okay?" her complexion paled and I help up a hand to stop her rampage of worried remarks. I glared at Bruce and then sighed. I gave him a look and waved him off. "What are you doing down there anyway...?" her voice trailed and I shot her a 'don't-you-dare' look.

"It's a long story. I'll be fine," I smiled at Bruce. "Besides. Crane and I are friends. I'll be okay, Bruce. I promise," I stopped before him and planted a kiss on his cheek, then wrinkled my nose at him. "Rest up. I'll see you tonight, okay?"

"Marty, I don't feel alright about this," he watched Rachel head towards her car, then looked down at the present she'd awarded him. I shrugged a shoulder and rolled my eyes at him. "It's dangerous."

I chuckled. "It's okay. Nothing will happen, I promise. I'll meet up with you tonight and everything will be hunky-dory, okay? Just let me do this. The Narrows...it's, well, it's where my heart is. And Rachel needs this. Don't worry so much. You'll wrinkle up that face of yours. That billion dollar look needs to stay as handsome as possible." I patted his cheek with my fingertips playfully. "Stop worrying about me. I'm a big girl. God is with me. Have some faith, would you, Bruce?"

"Marty!" Rachel laid in on the horn of her Ford. "C'mon! Appay's just opened. We can get you some clothes. We don't have much time!"

I gave my attention back to Bruce and looked at him over the top of my glasses. "See? Duty calls."

"Marianne..."

I hurried out the door and blew him a kiss as I descended the stairs. "Bye!" I jumped the last three and hit the pebbly driveway with force and hurried towards Rachel's car, the ground moving beneath my bare feet. "I'll see you tonight!" Smacking the car door back into place, I buckled the seat belt and waved to him before Rachel roared from the drive. He disappeared into the manor.

I hope the night would be batless.

* * *

Rachel's idea of "casual wear" was very different from mine. While I argued about buying a simple pair of slacks with a nice white blouse, she argued and told me I wouldn't have time to change for Bruce's party, so I needed something more than decent. She whipped out her American Express and paid for the first outfit I tried on.

It was a pair of ash grey flair khaki's with pleates down the front, matched with bright green heels about four inches tall. The shirt was a silk, butter-yellow button down which knotted at the bottom, with a business pull over that matched my pants. I'd quickly tied my curls into a very messy ponytail and exited the shop, hot on Rachel's heels. I felt ridiculous, but tried not to blush as a passing man looking alot like James Bond gave me a once-over.

We roared through the Narrows and made great time. Rachel navigated quick irradically-we had to stop and turn around twice, but we still arrived at the asylum within an hour of leaving the Manor. We parked haphazardly and hustled towards the asylum, where we were greeted by two rough looking security guards and escorted downstairs by the elevator. I felt surrounded and caged, which wasn't a good mixed for a mad vigilantress. I pushed up my glasses on my nose and hoped none of the looking inmates recognized the outline of my face.

We stopped on the floor above the basement and roughly exited the elevator at the guard's prodding. Confused, Rachel and I hustled on, determined to be the epitome of feminine grace and independence. Rachel was hot under the collar, and that was fine. I had a few things I wanted to tell Crane too. We stopped abruptly when we spotted him in the middle of the hallway. He turned his attention to a room, where Rachel and I peered in-between the barred window to see Carmine Falcone strapped to a table, twitching irregularly and mumbling.

"Scare...scarecrow...ss...sscar..."

She glared at the man and he stared cooly back at her. I wished I could bore a hole right in the middle of his face with a hot look, but refrained and decided to play the mediator bid with them. "Ms. Dawes, most irregular. I have nothing to add with the report I filed with Judge Faden." he looked right at me. "I see you've chosen an ally to backstab me with. Afternoon, Dr. Lancer."

"Jonathan," I said calmly.

Rachel looked between us. "Well, I have some investigations against you're report you filed, Dr. Crane," she gave him an off look and then thrusted a finger out towards Falcone's cell. "Isn't is highly peculiar that a fifty-two-year-old man with zero history of mental illness-or hereditary illness-to suddenly go completely nuts and have a psychotic break on the brink of his indiction?"

She scowled at him as Jonathan tossed me a look. "As you can see, there isn't anything 'highly peculiar' with this man's sudden disease, Ms. Dawes. You should be able to tell that much, shouldn't you, Doctor?" he mentioned to me with his head. "Medicine is about compassion and understanding. neither of which is being exercised at this irregular meeting."

Rachel considered Crane's words and stared at Falcone from the corner of her eye. "What's 'scarecrow'?" she questioned with a shot.

"Patients sometimes focus their psychosis on an outward tormentor," he shrugged, "usually in a Jungian form," he looked at her with a smirk, "in this case, a scarecrow."

"It's unusual," I replied quietly, "Falcone's never before-as far as I've heard-had any form of weakness. Psychotic or not, I don't believe he'd just suddenly break down before being indicted. It almost seems...induced. It's strange Jonathan," I approached the door with my arms crossed over my chest and wrinkled my brow. "There's alot of unanswered questions here." I stared at the man's face, seeing his eyes extremely bloodshot, with drooping around the edges and black rings forming around his once incredibly powerful eyes. The sluggishness in his mumbling striked a chord inside my medical training. "He's drugged?" I glanced at Jonathan.

Jonathan nodded and appeared briefly apologetic. "Psychopharmacology is my primary field, Dr. Lancer." he pushed up his square-frame glasses and rolled back on his heels, clasping his hands behind his back. "Out there he was a giant, Ms. Dawes. In here the mind can only grant you power. A strange reversal."

"You enjoy it." Rachel added harshly.

"I only respect the power the mind has over the body," Crane tipped his head to Falcone's deranged state, "It's why I do what I do. In a way it seems strange, but in the end I only want to help people."

Rachel lost all sense of restrait and thrust a finger at him. "I do what I do to put people like Falcone behind _bars, _Crane!" I stepped between her and pushed her hand down. She jerked away from me. "Marty!" she turned back to him after snapping at me, "I'm having my own consult go in and do a full psycological-and physical-exam. Including bloodwork to find out exactly what the crap you have him on is!" she glared at him and shook her head. "He will be brought to justice, Crane. Not even an insanity bid is gunna get him out of it."

Crane shrugged and stepped by us, my eyes following this strange man's movements. He stepped past the guards and gestured for us to follow him to the elevators. Rachel and I did hesitantly, alarm ringing throughout my head. I wished I had my bow, because I felt like nocking an arrow, just out of habitual instinct. I pushed Rachel ahead and brought up the rear, one guard behind me. Nervous as we boarded the elevator, Crane pushed the 'B' button and down we shot.

As we five stepped off the car, Crane gestured politely for us to go first. I wrinkled my brow and approached the railing, the same one as I had the night before. Gulping, I watched as the orange jumpsuited inmates continuously labored to pour the cans filled with chemicals into the water supply. Giving my attention to Crane, I saw Rachel's eyes widen as the guards gestured for us to descend the stairs quickly.

We obeyed. Me hesitantly, Rachel hotly. We stared as inmates began to refine a white colored powder, which looked alot like Cocaine. My brow furrowed as they glanced up at us only enough to glare and then go back to work. I recognized his vacant eyes belonging to Zsas, the murderer who kept track of his slaughters by making tallies on his body. Tingling began to overtake my body and my feet burned. Something was very wrong here, and by the look on Crane's face, it wasn't in our favor.

"Well," Crane signed, "this is where we make all the goodies." he smiled at us and chuckled. My eyes widened as Zsas scooped up an aerosol can and began to shake it. Crane accepted the cylinder and clasped his hands behind his back again. He whispered something to Zsas who then left, and turned back to us, shaking the can in his hand. The night Batman had went completely primal rushed a warning into my blood.

"Rachel! RUN!" I exclaimed hard. She whipped a look at me as the guard beside her lunged for her arm. She screamed and jerked back, and I elbowed my guard in the face and then the solar-plexus. He doubled over and I whirled back around, lifting my leg to knock Zsas right in the mouth. "GO! The elevator! NOW!"

She took off towards the stairs, grabbing on and flinging herself over the railing. She whipped off her heels and burst up the stairs two at a time, leaving me to deal with the muscle. I round-housed another man, the heel of my shoe lodging itself in his chin. He screamed and fell backwards. I whipped around and watched Rachel scurry around the corner. Multiple inmates hurried after her, but I quickly lept over another and removed my shoe. Hurling it towards the man in the lead, it collided with his head and he tripped and fell back, sending the men flailing down the fleet of stairs. I smirked and spun around to see Crane, downed in a very frightening gunny-sack looking mask with slashes for eyes and a ventilator for a mouth. I raised a brow in a quirk and he stopped the oncoming inmates from attacking me with a raised hand.

"Maybe you should have some of my goodies," his voice suddenly warped into that of somekind of demonic creature and he held up the cylinder. Before I could react he sprayed it, the strong mist swirling around my face and purging a course through my senses. Immediately my mind began to fog and images flashed before my eyes.

Terribly, squiggly images began to dance before my eyes, hissing at me and lunging for my eyes. I screamed and dropped to my knees, swatting at my face to remove the dangerous objects threatening to eat my eyes from my skull. They squirmed around me and bit my face, my hands, my arms, lacing around my lungs and stealing all air from my chest. My brain felt constricted by their body muscles. Their venom laced my veins and sent spiking heat throughout my entire body. These things seemed to replace my hair and hissed and bit at me. Crane knelt before and coaxed them on, laughing and commanding their venom to sink into my skin.

"Who knows you're here, Marianne?" his electrical voice pounded through my brain and he grabbed my throat. I gasped and stopped fighting the numberous, ganging, hissing reptiles and focused my eyes on the swimming figure before my eyes. Fear grabbed my soul and I closed my eyes, forcing out a word from my mouth. A prayer escaped me in a breath.

"Jesus, please...rescue...me..."

"WHO KNOWS!?" he roared.

He dropped me and I collapsed on the ground. Darkness flickered across my eyes, these reptiles with ruby eyes continually hissing and biting and taunting me. I curled into a fetal position, only half aware of my movements, screaming and commanding them to leave me alone. They only grew strong and more populous.

Then, I heard breaking glass.

The hissing beings ate away at my face, pain spiking a course through my body. I managed to press myself against the cool, dilapidated wall and began to twitch violently as if I were having a seizure. Some faint amount of training managed to break through the chaos ensuing in my brain and I remembered to keep my head somewhat stable. I strained to watch the unfolding scene before my eyes, a black, horrifying figure attacking orange blobs and tossing them aside.

Then, he approached the man in grey, with the brown frightening mask. He grabbed him and hoisted him into the air, and then dropped him roughly. The snakes continually bit and hissed, their venom making her mind begin to boil. She found it hard to remember to breath, and how, well, that seemed impossible. I had all she could do not to scream bloody murder there against the wall.

The black thing stood over the grey one, hollaring horrifically at him. His voice sounded thick, raspy and dangerous. Terror plagued me and brewed within my stomach, rising into my throat. Within moments I vomited the terrible venom from my stomach. The stinging heat preyed on my throat and ate away at my muscles.

Black blob turned to me and approached slowly, dangerously. I straightened and pushed myself against the wall, the hissing creatures continually falling in my face and biting at my eyes. I thrashed to move them aside, but to no avail did they comply. Horrifying noise erupted somewhere outside these walls and I screamed as the blob knelt before me. His face was horrible, like that of a vampire, with dripping fangs and steepled ears. I glared at it and screamed, thrashing and kicked and biting as he grabbed my forearm.

"No! GOD! Help me, God! PLEASE! No, no!" I sobbed, screams silencing as the creatures attacked my skin. My eyes burned, glasses shattered by their fangs. I was off the ground now, two huge muscles suspending me in the air. I vomited again, this time all over myself. I didn't care and hollered loudly, pounding a weak, bloodied fist against him. A slimy, slithering body crushed beneath my fist.

"NO! Get away from me! GOD! Now! Jesus, HELP!" I hollered hoarsely. "NO! No! NOOOO!" I ripped at the snakes in my face and pain spiked up my head. "Get off of me! NO! SNAKES! Oh God help!"Something sharp struck my neck. A fang?

No.

A syringe.


	14. Limb

**Chapter Thirteen**

Blackness dashed before my eyes quickly. My muscles turned to pools of butter, melting beneath the intense heat of fear crashing inside of me like thick water. The horrible snakes grew more fierce, lashing and hissing and bearing their fangs and lunging for my eyes. I tried to scream, but my throat constricted.

My eyes grew heavy. The black monster before me plucked me off the ground as if I were nothing. My arms dangled at my sides and my legs wobbled like jell-o. I felt dizzy, almost as if I'd vomit again. A moan escaped my parched lips, exhaustion overtaking my body. Everything within me loosened, and I lost all willpower to fight the squiggly serpents biting at my eyes. A thick thumb touched my cheek and burst like fire and I jerked my head away. I caught a glimpse of two soft eyes sticking awkwardly out of a horrific, petrifying mask.

"B...Ba...Batma..."

My voice trailed and all light vanished from my eyes.

* * *

_Got to get her home. _

With the information he needed and a slowly fading woman in his care, Batman decided now was a perfect time to make an exit. These inmates wouldn't stop coming in numbers, and Gordon's men would not be able to hold them off. He had the feeling none of these orange prisoners were intimidated by the fact the entire asylum was surrounded by all of GCPD's highly trained officers. He worried that Gordon would want to wait them out.

He raced to the stairs, his well trained legs taking them three at a time, no problems asked. Marianne was light in his arms, smelling terribly, looking worse. Crane had said she'd gotten an extra dose of his "goodies", a more concentrated mixture than what he'd received the other night. What terrified him was that this concentrated dose would work double-time on her psyche, erasing all sanity that his friend once knew. Horrifying fear gripped at his heart and tossed it around his chest like it was a baseball.

He took a sharp left around the corner, wondering briefly if Rachel had made it out okay. He guessed she had, since her Ford wasn't in the mix of black-and-white squard cars sprawled around the front drive. Relief overcame him and he jumped another flight of stairs, rapidly descending the corridor. He stole a glance down to Marianne's face, which had paled drastically. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head and her head flopped side to side whenever he took a step. Clenching his jaw, he took a sharp corner and began to descend another flight, cape billowing behind him quietly. He cast a look up to the ceiling and whispered hoarsely.

"Keep her alive, please."

With that, he stopped at the top of another flight. He looked over the railing which lead down to the lobby, where the GCPD SWAT and a group of officers were barreling into, guns drawn. Officers were bellowing out orders to set up a perimeter, though none seemed to dawn the steps leading up to him. In an instant, James Gordon's familiar, shabby, brown leather jacket appeared. The lobby began to die down, the buzzing police fanning out across the asylum. Gorden gestured to three lieutenants and they hustled out of the lobby, leaving Gordon and a walkie-talkie alone. A perfect target.

Batman looked to Marianne, who laid limply across his arms. He took one hand and touched her cheek, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. Her glasses had been cracked in one of the lenses, giving her the look of a sleeping, psychotic professor on the verge of a discovery. He then lifted up a foot, he grabbed a receiver from the heel and pressed the button. His backup would be here momentarily.

Narrowing his gaze, he graciously knelt and set her up against a wall and grabbed his grapeling gun. He fired it up, pulled it tight, and jumped over the railing. Now behind Gordon, the man whirled around and Batman slapped a hand over his mouth and retracted the line. Up they went and he stoppe at the appropriate flight of steps. He hurled Gordon over the railing, where he collided heavily with the floor. He pushed himself up, caught one look at Marianne, then scrambled for her. Batman knelt at her other side and grabbed her face gently in his hands.

"What happened to her?" Gordon asked genuinely.

Batman tossed him a look. "Crane poisoned her with a psychotropic hallucinogen," Gordon gave him a look.

"In English?"

"A panic-inducing toxin. This is a concentrated dose."

"She's not panicking," Gorden gently slapped her face with the back of his hand as if to arouse her. "She's out cold."

"I gave her a bit of Isoflurane," he said darkly.

Gordon positioned himself to pick her up. "I'll take her down to the medics-"

Batman swatted his hand away roughly. "No. They can't help her. But I can."

He wrinkled his brow. "How much time does she have?"

He thought a moment. "With a concentrated dose, not long."

A shriek sounded faintly outside the walls of the corridor, and Batman smirked lightly. Gordon jumped to his feet and retrieved his M9, then pressed himself against the glass of a window. He turned around to find Batman holding Marianne, ready to pass off the unconscious doctor to him. Gordon replaced his weapon and took the woman from him. "How are you getting out of here?"

"My backup's arrived," he gestured to his boot, grabbed the receiver and tapped it against his palm. "Meet me in the alley on the Narrows side. Be quick."

He nodded. "Did you get anything out of Crane?"

"Crane's been working for an outside source. He was the third guy at the docks with the illegal drugs. He's been smuggling in his toxin by hiding them in Falcone's drugs," he replaced the receiver, "They've been refining and testing it here in the basement...then dumping it all into the water."

Gordon's brow rose, "What's he planning? Did he say?"

Batman shook his head stiffly. "I don't know."

"So he's working for Falcone?" he shifted his weight to stable himself and Marianne, "How long? Does he have contacts? Contact points?"

Batman stepped forward and placed his palm against Marianne's cheek, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. His eyes were lost in her complexion and his throat constricted briefly. Gordon stumbled forward but then caught himself as Batman jerked to attention.

"No. Someone else. Far worse than Falcone."

Blood-curdling shrieks erupted from outside again. This time they followed the fleeing officers into the lobby, where the doors burst open and three men fell to the ground. Gordon peered over the railing and his brows rose, then he frowned and watched as the swirling masses of screeching black creatures rise up the corridor. He stepped backwards quickly and fell against the wall, Marianne safely at hand.

"What in God's name..."

"Backup." Batman interrupted. With a glance back at Marianne, he grabbed his cape and jumped over the railing, hitting the ground with a thud and hustling out the door, the bats following him out.

* * *

Jim wasted no time.

Covering the doctor's head with a hand, he hustled down the steps and over the stirring guards. The last of the bats had followed him out into the black night and into the chaos of directing lieutenants and SWAT teams. Jim wove throughout the black-and-whites until he reached his own civilian Chrysler. Lying her in the back seat, he practically dove into the driver's side and hurried out of the asylum, kicking up pebbles and puzzling the cops around him. The car revved, the RPM's dipped over the 4, and he took a sharp corner of the long, dirt road towards the city. "Sorry, my dear," he whispered hastily into the rearview, watching her body jerk every time he hit a bump.

Within five minutes he was in the Narrows, winding his way down the familiar alleys and streets. Jim tried not to stare too long at the figures littering the streets like trash-the very sight made his heart crack. As a police officer dedicated to protecting those of Gotham City, seeing these people living in filth, watching as crime lords sucked them in the abyss of hope and survival. This place-including the Traps-made him passionate for law, order and justice. Cleaning it up was just the epilogue.

He swerved into the main alleyway of the Narrows, which was surprisingly mostly deserted. Only a few people, mostly mothers with young children, picked at the trash and whatever else was salvagable in the sewege and waste. He squealed the car to a hault, the back end smashing into the hard, brick corner of the abandoned barber shop. Glass shattered, metal crunched, and rubber squealed. Cursing, Jim pounded the wheel and threw his Chrysler into park, rushing out and throwing open the driver's side passenger door. He scooped up the doctor's shoulders and carefully hoisted her into his arms. He whirled around and kicked the door closed, only to find the women and children rushing out of sight as Batman walked dangerously fast towards him, cape billowing in the cooling breeze.

Jim blinked and knelt to the asphalt, setting her down carefully. Batman knelt and rested her head in his hand then looked at Jim, who stared at his car over his shoulder. Then, whapping the air above them, a chopper appeared, probably news and a police force model having followed him here. He cursed as the white search lite enveloped the trio. Batman scooped up the woman heroically and bolted for the shadows which he had emerged from. Jim rose to his haunces, fighing the massive wind created by the blades of the chopper and cupped his hands around his mouth. He hollared into the night. "Take my car!"

"I brought mine!" he hollared with a rasp.

"Yours?" Jim questioned. He hadn't noticed the man had brought a car, but what did he know? Between him and his partner, Jim stood no chance of one-upping them in this game of cat-and-mouse. He stood and looked up at the chopper, jolting in his place when blaring light flared him in the face, sending him back two steps. Covering his eyes with his arms, he fought the light and then straigthened when a massive sounded engine roared down the alley. His eyes widened behind his glasses and he dove out of the way as the matt-black stealth-fitted tank flew out of the darkness, rumbling over his totaled Chrysler and whipping a sharp right. His jaw dropped as his hands pushed him up out of the filth. He brushed off his knees.

"I gotta get me one of those."

His walkie-talkie chirped and he grabbed it from his worn-jacket pocket and touched the button. _**"We got a 10-10 on Magberry with a 10-14, all units acknowledge..."**_

A possible crime with an occupied and suspicious license plate check? Enfuriated, Jim slammed the button down with his thumb and practically screamed into the box. "10-80 that house! That's a 10-80 on my order!"

_**"10-7 that on the perp,**_" that sounded like Flass.

"Verify that address my backside," Jim swore and grabbed at his hair, slamming this thumb harder onto the plastic button. "I said 10-80 that! 10-80 THAT ORDER!"

_**"All units, respond. A 10-13 has been called. A 10-34 present enroute 10-11 has been issued. All units respond. 10-6, over and out."**_

Flass must've requested a 10-13 from house for assistance. Jim pondered the 10-34. No one had been reported assaulted, and this wasn't an assault case. As far as he knew anyway. Maybe Batman had roughed somebody up. The alarm for all units to stand by had been issued, and that meant every cop this side of the Narrows was after that tank.

Jim vented out a huff and whipped the walkie-talkie towards the Chrysler. Then, he raised a hand and popped up his middle finger to the pilot overhead and looked ot his totaled sedan. "Drive fast, tough guy. Drive fast."

* * *

He looked over to the waning woman beside him, sweat beating around his temples behind the heavy kevlar cowl. He swiped at a trail of sweat running down his cheek and onto his chin, then regripped the wheel tightly. Anger burst within his soul, and his foot pressed harder against the accelerator. A scowl pierced his face, wrinkling his chin. Something burned in his eyes and he swiped at the opening in the cowl.

_Keep her alive, God, and I'll take it all back. I'll take it all back. Just keep her alive and...sane. _His bargain seemed weak, compromising. But, what other choice did he have at this moment? Marianne Angela Lancer was slowly losing her mind at his side. He raced around a corner, glacing out the mirror beside him. Half the GCPD was following him onto the freeway.

"Crap," he muttered. He flipped a couple of switches, the dashboard-screen coming to life. It lit up a lime-green color, with fiery red images behind him. Overhead, the radar alerted him to two choppers overhead, the searchlights bobbing across the asphalt and staining his matt-black Tumbler with their oppressive beams. He glared and whipped the steering column left. Before he knew it, his machine crashed into the median in the middle of he highway. Concrete fell around him, and a weak moan sounded beside him. Returning the wheel to normal and dodging more vehicles, he glanced at. She stirred, head falling side to side as if in a night-mare.

"Marianne," he whispered darkly, outstretching a hand and grabbing one of her curls. He twisted it around his fingers and watched it bob like a spring. Her head fell against his wrist and he saw her eyes try to open. One of them was cut across the eyelid, bleeding slowly. Her other was fine, but a nasty cut on her eyebrow oozed gently down her face. He scowled and vow to do the same to Crane. "Hold on, baby. Just hold on..."

He manuevered the Tumbler just enough to lose the cops a few cars behind. They struggled to keep pace, but caught on to his manuevers well. He frowned and activated a few gauges, then flicked a switch. Instantly a hatch released and a hundred sharp stars fell out below him. He watched through the mirror as the cops blew right through them, tires popping in a world of smoke. They spun out of control and one hit a civilian car, the other crashing into the median. The others screeched to a hault behind the others and he clicked another switch.

_"Cloaking activated,_" the computing device declared. Satisfied, he watch the screen project the image of the Tumbler, then it shaded purple, indicating the cloaking device was on. He sped up, weaved between some cars, and lost the choppers at the outskirts of the city.

He took the long way home at fast speed, just to make sure he'd lost the choppers. Then he swerved onto the Tumbler's well-trodden path. They roared closer to the south entrace of the cave, growing closer and closer. Finally the opening appeared and he floored it. Marianne groaned beside him, stirring even more quickly. He glanced to look at her, finding her skin had began to gloss and her eyes rolled into the back of her ehad again. He scowled and looked ahead, watching as the pounding waterful inside the cave poured water in the abyss below. He wrinkled his brow and touched her cheek. No response.

"MARIANNE!"

He burst through the water, breakings continuous trail. Slamming the brakes, the Tumbler jerked forward to a hault, sliding by force and leaving tire-marks on the pavement he'd installed. Alfred hurried down the stairs, vial of Lucius' antidote at hand, along with a fresh pair of clothing. Batman released the hatch, grabbed hold of friend and leapt out of the Tumbler.

He hit the ground hard, cape unfolding behind him and rushed to the exam table in the middle of the lab. He rested her on it graciously and wrestled her jacket off of her. He drew a syringe full of the liquid and flicked the vial. Then, inserting it in her juglar vein, released the injection into her bloodstream. Panting hard, he removed his cowl quickly and tossed it to the ground, placing his hands on either side of her shoulders. He listened to the bats in the cave flutter far off, and listened as the echo of his cowl colliding with the pavement faded off. His eyes searched her face as unfamiliar tears traced a path down his face.

"Marty! Marty," he whispered, voice strangling his heart in his chest. He looked up and closed his eyes, legs seeming to fall out from beneath him. He choked on a breath and swiped at his eyes. "Please, God...let her live. Please. Have mercy on me."

He stepped away from the table, then his knees collided with the ground. He balled his fist and grabbed at his hair with his finger tips and let out a scream into the cavnern depths. Alfred began to tend to Marianne and remove her respective clothing, sniffling softy as he did so. Bruce rocked back on the forth on his knees, a cry escaping his throat. Suddenly his cave felt very empty, and his cape felt very heavy. "Please. I..." he looked up at her on the table. "I...can't lose her. Not now."

_I never give you anything you can't handle, son._

He opened his eyes and wrinkled his brow. "You're giving me this! I can't _handle _this!" he exclaimed loudly. "I can't handle losing her!"

_You grow stronger by trials and tribulation. Have you not learned this?_

"Yes," he declared, defeated. "I have. I learned it the hard way."


	15. Recurve

**Chapter Fourteen**

"Master Bruce?"

Bruce jerked awake, blinking his eyes against the dim lighting that the "Batcave" provided. Alfred had been kind enough to light a few lamps and candles around to brighten up the dank cavern when Marianne awoke. Bruce scratched his head and realized he'd dozed off sometime during his wait. Where he fell asleep was what surprised, him the fact that he had fallen asleep did not.

He rolled back in the computer chair, letting his still-suited arms drop from the exam table where Marianne slept. Bruce stretched his arms high above his head and let his shoulder pop obnoxiously. He scratched the back of his neck and yawned, watching as Alfred graciously set a folded towel and some other fabrics at Marianne's feet. He wrinkled his brow. Immediately a brightly colored pair of shoes caught his attention. Alfred had been out _shopping_? He'd really fallen asleep that long? Apparently so, because he quickly noticed Alfred had changed his clothing into more appropriate, formal attire.

"How long have I been out?" he asked groggily.

Alfred shrugged a shoulder. "An hour or two. Long enough for me to go and get some things for the doctor," he gestured to the clothing with his head. Bruce nodded and looked back to the unconscious Marianne, who rested peacefully (now) and snored slightly. He wondered briefly if he'd used too much Isoflurane, but doubted it. Pushing himself off the chair, he headed over to the computer console he'd had Lucius install for him and clicked the 'H' button on the keyboard. Immediately the Manor consumed the huge screen and multiple rooms filled the others. He watched as women and men hurried around his foyer and his kitchen, decorating and preparing his father's precious home for his birthday party. He sighed heavily and shook his head.

"Something bothering you, sir?" Alfred began to clean up a few things. He cleared away the table next to the computer console, replacing a few pens and blueprints and a few metal shavings from freshly ground batarangs. Finally he picked up the cowl and approached Bruce, setting it in his hands and clasping Bruce's wrists with his hands. "You can tell me."

Bruce ran his thumb over the empty, barren eye of his mask. "I'll be thirty today, Alfred."

Alfred chuckled. "Ah, yes. Still young. I can remember when I was thirty. Life was wonderful." he turned from his master and began tidying again, shuffling papers and charts and running his wrinkled hand across the stain-less steel of the console. "I became a father when I was twenty-nine, you know."

Bruce looked up at his friend. "You where a father?" he asked quizzically, setting the cowl on the console and shooting a look to Marianne. "Married?"

Alfred nodded slowly. "Yes, I was. Josephine was her name," he smiled slightly as the name crossed his lips. "She was wonderful. Gave me my first daughter. We named her Elizabeth Victoria, after the great queens of England." he looked up at Bruce and then went back to work. "We were happy. I worked at Buckingham, full time as a head-butler." he laughed. "We lived not to far. A few rooms down the street. Josephine stayed at home with Liz, took care of her. I'd come home in the evenings and read to the little one and we would sit as a family and play together."

Bruce's mouth upturned into a quirky smile. "That's great, Alfred."

Alfred nodded slowly, his smile fading as he spoke. "But, after Liz turned two, she...became ill." he swallowed a breath and then released another shaky one. "She contracted scarlet fever and passed. My dear Josie worked with her so long and stayed be her side daily. I worked longer hours to pay medical bills, but Liz never improved. Josie herself became ill, but no doctor could find anything wrong with her."

Bruce approached his butler and rested a hand on the man's shoulder, smiling weakly at him. This was information Alfred had never shared with him before, and he was touched to hear it. Alfred looked away as tears pooled in the corner of his eyes. "I'm sorry, Alfred. That's tragic."

He chuckled and shrugged. "It is."

"What happened to Josephine?"

Alfred looked up at him and a tear dripped down his wrinkled, sorrowful complexion. Bruce felt pain rise within his chest as emotion seized his heart like a giant serpent, constricting everything within him. "I'm afraid she..." he choked for words, "...my dear Josephine went to be with God not just a year after Lizzie died. I lived in England for another twenty-years before I came here, and your father employed me." he patted Bruce's cheek with his palm and smiled at him through his teary-face. "Soon after, you were born. I'll never forget how proud your father was."

Bruce nodded. Alfred had been twenty-nine was his daughter had been born. Thirty-one when she had died. His life had unfolded at that age, just started, but with a chapter of adolescent bachelorhood closed behind him. Bruce couldn't help but think of himself, and how he remained here, in a dank, cold-hearted cave, alone with no one but himself, Batman, and Alfred. He wondered where his life would be and how different the outcome would've been if his father and mother had remained alive. Batman may have never even become anything. By now he had approached Marianne, and rested his hand atop of hers. He noticed how bare her left hand was without a ring-one he'd imagined in his dreams of home and friends. Now it seemed wrong, like a disservice unto her. What had made her stay unwed for so long? He ran his thumb over her ring-finger. "I would've thought she'd had a family by now, Alfred," he scanned her face with his eyes, taking in the outline and all her features. "Why do you think she never married?"

Alfred voice came from across the room, echoing off the walls back at him. "Maybe she was waiting for the right person to come around," his thick accent turned serious as he approached the head of the table. "or perhaps...she was waiting on someone."

Bruce shrugged a shoulder and thought about Rachel for a moment, how they'd dated in high-school and had promised each other a future together and how he'd felt so right kissing her behind the bleachers during homecoming. Then suddenly he saw Marianne in the depths of his memory, standing alone in the sea of thrashing students, screaming for someone to notice her in her sheltered, alone state. He remembered how she'd failed to stay for the homecoming king and queen announcement at their senior prom.

Or how she'd always sat at the top of the bleachers, watching the football game alone, waiting for him as he'd left to "retrieve" some sodas when in all reality he was out fooling with the cheerleading squad, she forever the picturesque friend, never questioning his long absences. Then he saw her at Rachel's seventeenth birthday party, watching quietly from the shadows of the croquet game as he seductively leaned over Rachel's shoulder, whispering instructions on how to make the perfect put. Even at his nineteenth "birthday" celebration when he'd purchased an entire casino to celebrate and her refusal to play in his fun game of strip poker.

So, she'd remained invisible throughout their friendship, but when in all reality she'd been there, standing behind him, loving him through everything like a true friend should. And how he'd failed to even remember her acceptance into nursing school and what they'd done to celebrate. What kind of fool was he? Wasn't it Rachel that had went off with the football jock after prom to "go out on the town" and had abandoned him on the gymnasium floor? Or when she'd approached him in Algebra II and announced she was dating the shop-master in shop class?

Fear grabbed his soul. "What have I done?" he murmured, "Alfred..." he looked over his shoulder, but his beloved friend had disappeared. Then he looked down to his friend and jerked his hand away from her face clutching his wrist and shaking his head. Then he grabbed at his hair and stepped back frantically, away from her and all the fear and emotion she possessed. He wrinkled his brow and forced the burning tears in his eyes to retreat to their depths.

_She has always been yours,_the voice stirred in his mind, bringing alarming peace to his flustered soul, _since the beginning of time. She has, and always will be, hopelessly devoted to you; despite your shortcomings. _

"No..." he told himself, unsure if this voice was him, the darkness preying on his mind, or the Almighty he'd abandoned so long ago. "...no. She's, she's not mine...she's not right for..._me._" he looked at the sleeping woman and swallowed thickly, heat dashing up his neck and blossoming across his face. "...Marianne's too good to be mine."

_I don't make mistakes. _

"You did with me," he whispered, "I have no life. No love. No...purpose beyond this." he slammed his palms into the kevlar suit and looked down. "There is no Bruce Wayne."

_There has always been Bruce Wayne. _

He shook his head. "No! Bruce died with his parents! This is who I am," he grabbed at his suit and then his hair. "I'm not that man anymore. And You're not...You're not the same! You're not the God I remember. Gracious and good...you took away my parents!"

The voice was silent as he continued on, tears burning down his face and tracing paths of hot salt down his skin. Everything seemed so dark and confusing. It seemed the air had turned to sulfur, burning his perpetual being into a smoldering pile of...nothing. He dropped to his knees and began to cry. The hurt of his parent's untimely death exploded within him; the sudden guilt of having left Marianne so far behind him bursting within his soul. Even Chill came back to his remembrance and how he'd wanted to murder him on trial. It all knotted into the pit of his stomach like a toxic acid eating away at the inner being of his emotions. The serpent wrapped around his heart squeezed tigther now, seeming to constrict all hope and breath from his chest. "You're...not the same..." he repeated woefully. "Not anything of which I remember..."

_"I am who I am, Bruce. I change not. For everything there is a time and a season, and I long to draw you from this season. Remember Me and My goodness...all the things I have given unto you. Life. Freedom. Eternity. I have not changed, son...it is you who have left Me. Not I unto you._

He clawed at his scalp, trying to force the words from reaching his ears. He shook his head and began to rock back and forth, muttering the words over and over as if his mouth was a broken record player. "You took my parents...you took them away..."

_I brought your parents unto Me! Away from all the wrong in the world. Thomas would've died if he would've lived to see Gotham fall so far. And you're mother...she would've perished if not for I. I saved your parents from a fate worse than death, Bruce. _

"But You hurt me! _You hurt ME_!" he shouted, "_I _lost my parents that day, not You!"

_I made you stronger! I give not what My children cannot handle, son. And I lost a Son...long ago on a cross. Who was beaten, abused, pierced and prodded for Gotham. For these people! For _you. _Do not think I care not for you...you are most precious to me, my son...and you are not alone. I knew you while you were in your mother's womb, and I know you now. Do not forsake me, Bruce. _

"Uh..." the soft stirring came from ahead of him, and he whipped his attention up. Tears continued down his face and onto the stony floor, but the figure before him stirred slightly. Jumping to his haunches, he lunged for the console and grabbed the mask and donned it quickly. Making sure everything was in place, he gently picked her up and then set the clothing on her lap, taking the stairs carved into the stone walls up to the Manor. There Alfred met him and he took the doctor in his arms and Bruce swallowed thickly. Graciously patting her wild curls down with his hand, he lowered his head and planted a soft, lingering kiss on her lips; just enough to have heat flood through him like a tidal wave. He turned on his heel, his cape rustling behind him, leaving Alfred dumbfounded on the top of the steps.

"But her to bed, Alfred. I'll be up later."

He disappeared into the cave, punched the button on the wall, and the staircase vanished from Alfred's view.

* * *

Light found me shortly after I'd fallen asleep.

_Sound had stirred in my ears; very muffled, unknown noise that I could identify in darkness. It reached out at me in all directions, plunging me deeper into confusion and haze. My mind had felt so heavy, like a thick brick sinking slowly into mire which couldn't be removed. Everytime I looked for the switch to turn on light, it was out of grasp and invisible unto me. Nothing I could do would pull me from darkness. _

_But then something soft-a breeze-cascaded down my face, seeming to wisp all of my problems away. In one sweeping instant, a hand appeared before me, one that was white and shining, with a hole pierced through the flesh and bone. It reached unto me through piercing light, into my darkness and beckoned unto me. I reached out to receive it, so weak and tired to move. The mire was thick and I was hardly able to breath much less move. But as this light broke through the darkness, the night shying away from it, peace wafted through me and my mind became clear. I squinted against this light until the hand reached mine and enveloped it. Instantly I was pulled from this mire and righted on firm soil, but fell to my knees. The clouds in my mind instantly disappated and all became clear again. _

_"Arise," the voice exclaimed unto me with loving sterness, "and go and spark the night."_

_Then, in a sweeping instant, everything disappeared. _

I bolted upright, my hands finding soft ground beneath me. Sweat held my clothes tightly to my skin, keeping them close as if they'd be taken away from me. My heart thudded loudly in my chest and in my ears, blood coarsing through me. No longer did slithering creatures bite at my eyes...just my hair. I grabbed at my massive amount of curls and twisted them through my shaking fingers. I looked around me frantically, finding myself in Bruce's room, sitting up in his bed, covered with his silken comforter. One word formed on my lips and escaped my mouth.

"Batman."

"Doctor?" the knock was soft, but sent me yelping and stirring for grip on the comforter. Pulling it up to my neck, I swallowed and sat up on my knees, facing the door. I sighed and collected myself.

"Yes?"

The door opened and Alfred peeked his head in. A smile upturned his lips and he opened the heavy oak door wide, exposing his full, formal attired body. He entered and closed the door softly. "Good evening, doctor," he chuckled.

"Alfred," I said, relieved. I removed the comforter and hurried off the bed and rushed to him. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I planted a quick kiss on his cheek and pulled away. "What happened?"

"Dr. Crane poisoned you with the same hallucinogen as Bruce," he explained quickly, gesturing for me to take the clothing in his hands. Wrinkling my brow, I accepted them from him. "He brought you here and innoculated you with Lucius' antidote."

I nodded, walking over to the nightstand and grabbing my glasses. I slid them on my face and set the clothing down. "Where's Crane? And Bruce? Did he get any information and what's going into the water and who Crane's contact is?"

Alfred looked overwhelmed by the amount of questions and raised his shoulders in reply. "I'm not sure-"

"Marty?"

I spun around and stared at the doorway, where Bruce casually leaned against the frame and smiled at me, eyes twinkling in the lamp lighting of the room. He'd had a a shower, slicked back his hair and his wonderfully spicy cologne swirled around the room and sent my senses sky-high. I swallowed thickly and tore my eyes off of him and hurried over to him, arms outstretched for a hug. "Hey you," I wrapped my arms around him and he enveloped me with one of his and squeezed tightly. "Happy birthday."

"I was worried about you," he changed the subject, pulling back and tucking a curl behind my ear. "What happened?"

"A long, pitiful story," I touched his cheek and wrinkled my nose, "That I'll regail you with later." I noticed that music cascaded up the corridor and into my room, and light chattering accompanied it. I slapped his shoulder playfully and frowned at him. "You left your guests? Get down there and have your party," I shooed him out of the door-frame, "I'll be down shortly."

"Hey, wait a minute," he chuckled, placing his well-polished Italian leather shoe between the door and the frame before I could close it. "I can't go down there without my date, can I? People are already talking..."

"Date?" I choked out the words, swinging the door wide, "What date? Where is she?" I shouldered past him and entered the hallway, clothed in nothing more than a white tank top from Appay's and my previous flair pants. I wrinkled my brow, somewhat agitated he'd chosen someone over Rachel, and spun on my heel to face him. "What's her name?"

He blinked at me and then burst out laughing. I balled my fists and propped them up on my hips, and he walked towards me, taking my hand in his and leading back to his room. Bruce just shook his head and wrapped his index finger around one of my curls and tugged playfully. I tried to force a smile back, but didn't. Was I dreaming this moment? I didn't think so, because never before in my dreams did I see two chocolate color eyes stare at me so fondly before during slumber. I swallowed thickly again. "What's so funny?"

"You are, Little Bird," he used his childhood nickname for me when we played cowboys and Indians. I'd always be the chief's daughter, the expert archer, while he'd be the dashing cowboy-and Rachel my prisoner. He'd always come crashing in to save her, killing me and my "father" in the end. Rachel would have her hero and her storybook ending while I'd get eaten by buzzards. All in all it had been fun when we were younger, and I'd acquired the nickname Little Bird from then on, compaired to Marty and Marianne, my two names used in adolesence and adulthood.

I dared to jar back, "And why's that? What's so funny about asking to meet your date?"

A smile played onto his lips, and stars erupted into his eyes. "Because _you are _my date." With that, he released my curls and turned from me, walking to the armoire and pulling it open. My mouth dropped open, and my eyes widened. Alfred chuckled at me and I looked to him, and he nodded slowly as if this were no joke. I froze, perpetually motionless, for all feeling had left my legs. Had my heart seized? My index and middle finger flew to my neck, where I pressed them just below my jawline, and felt my pulse hammering away against my skin. Nope, I was still alive, and this wasn't a dream.

"Me? You're date?" I asked. My tone as apparently astounded, because Bruce looked at me as if he were offended. "Are you crazy?"

"Why would I be crazy?" he chuckled, pulling some things out of the armoire and approached me again. He handed me a set of clothing and leaned forward, planting a kiss on my forehead. Then, he patted my cheek in a fatherly fashion and stepped by me. "Be down before they serve the cake, eh?"

I rolled my eyes. "I still think you're crazy,"

"Think what you want," he grabbed the knob on the door and began closing it, "but you're still my date." with that, he winked and the door clicked into place. "Don't be long!"

I swallowed and looked at Alfred. "How on earth am I going to do this?"

Alfred walked towards me, grabbed my shoulders gently and patted my shoulder reassuringly. "I'll help you. Besides, this can't be much harder than roughing up some thugs, right?"

"Oh," I rolled my eyes and hurried towards the bathroom, "this will be much harder, I assure you, Alfred."

I closed the doors a little too hard.

Twenty minutes later, I was descending the stairs, feeling very much like an overly primped Theresa Doll.

Bruce had selected a sweeping evening gown, much to my dismay. It was floor-length, Egyptian silk, and somewhat revealing at the top. But, thankfully, Bruce was always the gentleman, and had kept it appropriate enough for my approval. The gown was sleeveless, and Alfred had awarded me with a beautifully designed amathyst to wear around my neck-an eagle's claw wrapped protectively around the jewel the size of a fifty-cent piece.

But, what was most horrifying about my gown was this: it was black, with a cluster of flowers and pearls at the bust. Not that the cluster was terrible...it was the tall slit ending just above the other knee.

Not that the dress' design was terrible. It was beautiful in itself. It fasted around my neck, leaving my shoulders bare, making me feel very exposed but no humiliated. And my shoes...they were completely petrifying!

At least for inches tall, they were the deep purple of the flowers of my gown, but with cream colored vines running across the toes and down the heel of the shoe. I'd never worn such tall things-but I'd managed nicely. My training had left me with impeccable balance, which meant that I could handle this with no problems asked.

I forced my fingers from not gripping the railing going down the stairs. I let my hand slide slowly down as I descended, keeping my eyes on the horizon of people and a smile on my face. I looked down, only to watch my shoes clack against the marble staircase, thinking this was the biggest mistake my life. I swallowed and looked back up, only to find Bruce before me, finding that I'd come to the last step before it transformed onto the floor before me.

He extended a gentle hand, and I wrapped mine in his. He raised my knuckles to his lips and kissed gently, and tossed me up a half-smile. I smiled back at him gently, a blush cascading up my neck and blossoming onto my cheeks. Bruce's eyes twinkled, and he helped me onto the floor. Instantly Alfred handed me champagne glass and raised it.

"And now the life of the party has arrived!" he announced cheerfully. A round of applause clapped the room, jolting me in my shoes. Laugher bubbled up from my chest and escaped me before I could force it back and I relished in the moment as Bruce wrapped my arm through his. He squeezed my hand interlaced our fingers I felt my stomach drop into a melting pile of girlish emotion.

The crowd began to disperse again as Bruce paraded me through his guests, introducing me to people I recognized. The Mayor and his family, a few of Thomas' friends, people from the Enterprise, and so on. I smiled and made pleasant conversation with the people, recognizing many of them and not having a clue who half or them where. Bruce patiently filled me in as we walked, whispering in my ear as if we were in the shadows, observing everything. I smiled and nodded as he pointed and he chuckled.

"Bruce, darling! Have you met this gentleman yet?" a woman with fiery, red, frizzy curls pulled back into a pearl clip hurried towards us, waving her hand frantically above the heads of the other guests. "Here, darling, over here!"

He chuckled and took my hand, and we wove through the people. I was careful not to bump anyone, minding my new dress and the other people's glorious attire. I handed my empty glass off to a waitress and stopped up alongside Bruce, who stood frozen in place. His eyes were somewhat widened and he paled considerably. I wrinkled my brow and squeezed his hand. "Bruce?"

I listened to her continue on. "Am I pronouncing this right...Mr. Ducard_?_" She left as another woman waved her over. I stared at the man, tilted my head to the side, and found him staring intently at me as well. I swallowed and looked down and he stook half-a-step forward, reaching for my hand and bowing at the waist.

"Hello, ma'dam," he said, his accent thick. I recognized it as Irish, perhaps from the Northern areas, and he had a particularly peculiar dark twinkle to his eyes. Overall, is wrinkling features and greying hair, he wasn't overly unattractive. Actually...he was very attractive. Almost seductive. Then suddenly an elderly Asian Man appeared and bowed before me. "May I ask you name? Or, perhaps such beauty has no name at all?"

I blushed profusely. "My name? Oh, Marianne. Marianne Lancer," I said sheepishly, "And who're you?" The attractive man smiled and gestured to the Asian.

"Ra's al Ghul..."

He straightened, stared right at Bruce, and announced pridefully. Bruce interrupted instantly, cutting the attractive Irishman off. "You're not Ra's al Ghul. I watched him die."

The Irishman chuckled and smiled strangely. "Ah, yes, but is Ra's al Ghul immortal...?" he clasped his hands behind him. "Are his methods...supernatural?"

I stared between the triangle of men, Bruce dropping my hand as if it were a hot potato. I looked between them and swallowed thickly, shaking my curls and raising my hands as if to calm the rising bloodpressure of this...trio. "Whoa, what's going on here? Bruce? Immortal? Supernatural...?"

The Irishman laughed and approached me, took my hands in his and patted them gently. He smiled me and touched my curls, patting my cheek and then leaning me forward and planting a kiss on my forehead. I jerked back, squirming from his grasp, and Bruce pushed him back, stepping between us. "Nothing to worry about, dear. Bruce just...hasn't learned to respect the immortal among him yet."

"Yet?"

"Or the cheap parlor tricks able to conceal one's identity..." he glared at him and gestured for me to step back. "Ra's."

Ra's (apparently the real Ra's) chuckled and threw his head back, then shook it as if in disbelief. "Surely a man who spends his nights on the rooftops wouldn't begrudge me dual identies, now, would he, Bruce?"

"Bruce!" I exclaimed, agitation flooding through my veins. I stepped around Bruce and seperated the two of them, spinning on my heel to face Bruce. Then I whipped a look over my shoulder to Ra's, who stared hard at my best friend. I furrowed my brow and realized people had began to form around us in a circle. "Bruce, please," I rested a hand against his chest, "tell me what's going..."

He interrupted me again. "I saved you." he shot back to Ra's.

Ra's made no expression. Then suddenly he smiled and replied. "I warned you about compassion, Bruce." Without warning, he reached out and seized my arm, pulling me towards him and wrapping my arm behind my back to secure me. I grunted and tripped over my heels, my back slamming into his rock-solid chest. I blinked and before I knew it a group of men enclosed us in a circle.

Bruce stepped forward, but a man intercepted him. "You're fights with me, Ra's! Let them go."

Ra's gestured with his free hand to the crowd. "You're welcome to explain the situation to them," he sounded amused.

"Bruce!" I exclaimed hastily. Within moments Ra's whipped me around, grabbed my jaw with his strong hands and searched my eyes. His were impeccably magnificent, filled with life, fire and something foreign unto me, but was not good.

Revenge.

He then gave me a half smile and chuckled, squeezing my chin in his grasp slighty. Then he closed his eyes and planted a tender kiss on my forehead and leaned down and whispered wonderfully into my ear. "I've heard much about you, my dear Marianne. I hope you received my..._gift _in good time."

I swallowed thickly. "I...I don't have anything," I whispered back, a shake to my voice. I was truly afraid of this man, who claimed he was immortal and back to haunt my best friend. Fear radiated in my stomach and swarmed into my chest, and I could barely hear Bruce announce to the people to leave as Ra's breathed into my ear. "My home...it was destroyed."

He clucked his tongue sympathetically. "Pity. But," he chuckled and his lips tickled my ear again, pulling me closer to his face. Within moments my cheek touched his and he replied somewhat seductively, "it would've looked marvelous on you."

With seconds he released me, pushed me back but still grasping my wrist. "Get everyone out of here," he told his men around us. He then pointed to two others and then turned to Bruce, his grip tightening around my wrist. "hold him. He isn't going anywhere. Not without his lady here,"

I glared at this man and shifted my weight to counteract his. I dropped my shoulder nad grabbed his arm, hurling his weight above mine and over me. Instantly he counteracted my attack and whipped through the air overtop me, landing behind me and taking my arm with him. My shoulder popped in protest and I whirled around to face him again, uninjured. I gawked at this man, obviously experienced in the arts and scowled at him. I narrowed my eyes and his brows rose a few inches, as if he were amused.

"A fighter, are we? How wonderful." he chuckled and blinked, smiling in a devilishly handsome mannor. I swallowed and Bruce faught his guards, huffing and shouting insults at this man. He never took his eyes off me, and laughed again. Pulling me towards him, Ra's scanned my eyes and then cupped his palm around my jaw as if trying to send a tender, innocent message to me. I thrashed against him forcefully until he released me and I stumbled backward in my heels. I was almost ready to fall when my training caught me off guard and I tossed my weight backwards in a backflip and within moments my palms connected with the cool marble floor. I pushed up and my body suspended through the air and my feet hit the floor with a clack. I was now at least six feet from this man, crouched in an attack formation as if he'd try to touch me again. A smile spread onto his lips and he applauded me sarcastically. "You possess skill. Impressive. A true beauty," he then sauntered over to Bruce as two guards seized my arms with strong hands the size of my face. I thrashed violently just as Bruce had, unwilling to be contained. I kicked and screamed and nashed, but they held strong. Ra's watched me and stared at me possesively and then turned back to Bruce.

"She has enough passion to be a member of the League," he scratched his goatee, "though we've never had a female contender in our ranks." I stopped and looked up at him through my curls, scowling and growling at this devil of a man. He shrugged a shoulder and smirked back at me. "And my, wouldn't she be beautiful with a samurai?"

Bruce fumed at him. "Ra's! Let her go! She means nothing to the League! _Nothing_!" he tried to pry his arms from the men, pulling them forward to counteract their hold. Nothing. "Don't do this, Ra's! She's not League-"

"-I will do what I will with her. She belongs to the League! You know everything a man has belongs to the League once he is a member," he glared at Bruce and balled up a fist, then grabbed his jaw with strong fingers and squeezed. "And if she is yours the she is ours,"

"NO! You can't-oof!" his cry was silenced when Ra's slammed his fist into his abdomen. He doubled over and went limp, dropping to the floor and letting his knees hit the marble. I gasped as they released him and Ra's turned on his heel and rounded Bruce, knelt by his ear and whispered with a sly chuckle.

"More specifically," he patted Bruce's hair tauntingly. "...she belongs to me."


	16. Rest

**Chapter Fifteen**

He might as well have driven a 15 inch needle through my chest cavity and into my heart.

My insides had turned into searing stakes with white-hot tips, saudering away at the entrails of my inner most being. Every resolve to scream escaped me, and my throat compressed shut. I could've breath for an instant, and I'd thought for sure I'd had a mini-heart attack. Mentally telling myself I had not drifted into a partial coma, I let my bottom lip drop open. Tears welled in my eyes as the inevitable crashed into me like a wave made entirely out of bricks: this man was going to kill Bruce, and I was powerless to stop him.

The fact that I know was held prisoner by Ra's Al Ghul really had nothing to do with my trauma. What petrified me was that he was going to kill Bruce Wayne; my love, and he was going to destroy Batman; my...other love. It felt as though the major ingredients of my life were being thrown into a wild mixture of confusion, love and desperation. I was not prepared to live my life without Bruce, and Reacher wouldn't be able to survive Gotham without Batman at her side. I gulped and fire preceeded in its wake.

Bruce moaned heavily as Ra's stood, leaving him on the ground. It occured to me that it must've been one heck of a punch, because Bruce shouldn't have been down that easily-unless he'd gotten so used of kevlar protection already. Ra's gave a few orders to his men in their tongue and approached me, gesturing for the men to release my arms. I jerked away from them and straigtened my gown somewhat neatly and Ra's stood before me. His eyes scoured my own and I looked away, unwilling to let him see the weakness brewing in my eyes. I exhaled a shaky breath and then looked behind him, only to find Bruce roughly being jerked up by two of his ninja's. My brow furrowed and Ra's looked partway over his shoulder. The ninja's began to head towards the stairs and I lunged around Ra's in their direction, a scream rupturing from my lungs.

"No! What are you doing with him? Bruce! Bruce!" I was almost to the bottom of the stairs when a rough hand clamped around my forearm, jerking me to another halt. I crashed into a spicy-smelling chest and collasped to my knees, unwilling to lose another struggle. Tears now fell down my face in salty lines. "Bruce! God, no! Please. Bruce, wake up! Wake UP!" my sobs made my words barely legible. "Bruce, please..."

Without a second thought, Ra's chuckled and crouched to his haunches beside me. I could sense a smile playing on his lips as his words reached my ears with no resolve. My stomach clenched tightly and my heart turned to a hard stone as he whispered in my ear tauntingly. "What only hurts us makes us stronger, my dear."

I opened my eyes and looked up at the stairs again, where Bruce had disappeared to. Another tear poured down my face, mascara and blush going with it. I bit down on my tongue and closed my eyes again, begging God for some type of plan to get us out of this. Only hours ago He'd rescued me from insanity, only to leave me here, a prisoner? That wasn't the likeliness of Jehovah, and I wasn't about to believe it for one moment. I turned my head to find Ra's standing slowly and I wiped at my eyes. He extended a hand and I took it gracefully. I rose to my haunches and then looked up at him again, fire bursting forth from my soul and into my veins. He looked at me strangely, as if confused. I looked away and he led me towards the stairs. Thoughts swirled through my brain as my heart thudded like a brass drum.

We reached the top of the marble platform and Ra's gestured a hand signal to his ninja's. They bowed respectively and hurried off to do their bidding. He then gave me a half smile and released my arm, bowing at the waist and gesturing for me to climb the next set first. I did so compliantly, lifting the hem of my gown above my ankles. I scanned the banks of my memory as I caught a glimpse of the hall, about six steps up.

"You will thank me someday," he said lightly. I stopped and looked down at him. "What I am offering you is a high honor for any woman."

"How can I be thankful?" I replied quietly, still climbing the marble steps slowly. Bruce's smile just an hour before flashed across my memory and wrenched my heart inside my chest. I swallowed thickly and whispered. "You're taking me away from everything I know."

"As I said. What hurts us will eventually make us stronger."

I stopped, glanced over my shoulder to look at him and offered the older man my best smile behind salty tears. He stopped and smirked up at me. I tilted my head to the side and nodded slowly. "That's the most convincing thing you've said all evening." With that, I whirled around and roundhoused him. The heel of my foot slammed into his chin, sent him flying off his step and down the staircase. His body tumbled and rolled and he moaned, and finally he slid down the last steps, motionless. I wasted no time as his moan echoed down the staircase. I bolted, taking the last steps two at a time and hustled down the hallway.

Broken English was hushed near the steps. I slipped into one of the many rooms lining the hallway and closed the door softly. I didn't bother to flip on the lights and I hustled through the room, cursing my dress for its inconvience and unpracticality. I hurried towards the window as something caught my eye. Whirling around, I scrambled for the closet and flung it open. I shuffled some of the bagged clothing away, only to realize this was indeed the room I'd hoped for.

The design of Wayne Manor was indeed Victorian, but when Thomas had the electrical system re-done with a security feature, he'd paid a significantly large amount of money for many "boxes" to be practically spaced throughout the house. Instead of going to the basement every time a fuse needed flipped, he went to many of the different boxes throughout the Manor to fix the problem. The ones I knew of where in the conservatory, the piano hall, and the guest bedroom...

Relief overcame me. "Thank you Jesus," I pried open the switch-box and scanned over the writing on the left-hand side. Deciding that no light was better than some, I grabbed all the wires and yanked hard. Static sizzled and then they came loose. Looking over my shoulder, I saw that the little red numbering of an electic alarm clock had died into blackness. Satisfaction came over me. "Well done."

Sliding the closet closed, I listened as men scrambled throughout the hallway, cursing and hollaring in their tongue. I heard nothing of Ra's-he must have been down still. A smirk floated onto my lips and I slid the window open and looked down. Two stories up and the ground so far below, with no gear. A twinge of doubt flooded through my body, turning my feet a disturbingly icy cool.

Without a second thought, I wiggled my toes and slid out the window, then slid it back closed with a thump.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Leslie's X-Terra skidded to a stop at the end of Bruce Wayne's driveway. I flung open her passenger door and grabbed the suit tossed half-hazardly on the front seat. Unbuttoning the back of my gown, I slid it off right in front of her and began to suit-up. Leslie flicked the lights off and reached behind her, grabbing my quiver and bow from the backseat. I zipped the suit up the front and placed the Venetian mask over my eyes.

Accepting the bow, I slipped it over my shoulder and then tested the taut in the string. "Pray for me, Les. Bruce is in trouble." I choked back a sob. "I...dunno if I can get him ou-"

She stopped me and she clasped my hands. "Shh. Don't even say it. All things are possible with Christ, remember that."

I nodded. "Thanks. Get to the PD and tell Gordon to seal off the Narrows. Crane's up to something with the wat-"

She snorted sarcastically. "Something? Honey, didn't you hear? Wayne Enterprises lost some-type of water vaporizer. It was stolen yesturday at noon," her eyes turned sad.

It hit me suddenly. "Crane was going to administer his hallucinagen through the water, and vaporize it throughout the city. Before his drug was just airborne, which would've been impossible to administer throughout the city without spending millions. This way he could vaporize the drug-infected water and..." I stopped and my eyes widened. "Oh God. He's poisoning the entire city!"

Leslie shifted her car into reverse. "What do you want me to tell Gordon?"

I thought fast. "Seal off the Narrows. Get whatever units he can and lockdown the entire island. Tell him to get the mass-production on whatever aircraft he can." I handed her a smaller arrow and she looked at me, brow wrinkled in confusion. "Tell him Batman and Reacher are on their way."

"But are you?"

I smiled at her and winked. "We will be."


	17. Upshot

**Chapter Sixteen**

"Be careful!" The window to Leslie's X-Terra rolled down slowly with a whir, her voice a biting serious as I ducked into some of the bushes along the Wayne's long, twisting drive. The leaves rustled softly as I squatted to my haunches. Leslie retreated into her car and shifted it into reverse, the white lights around the license plate illuminating the light. I watched her silently as her SUV somberly drove down the drive. I waited only long enough; which was until her ruby-red tail-lights had been engulfed in darkness and the trail of dust subsided into quietness. I assured she was gone and only then did I take off for the Manor again.

It took great restraint not to run the other direction. Bruce was indeed Batman; he could very well get himself out of this if need be. Batman had always said this was his city and he didn't need the amateur help of a "rookie" archer. What he failed to realize was that I'd been patrolling these streets long before Batman had. I knew pain and bruises better than anyone, and I could practically make my way through the Narrows blindfolded. And the Traps….well, I knew them brick by brick.

The Traps. I leapt over a fallen log as I kept my eyes on the darkened Manor from the tree line. I found it extremely odd that Crane would target the Narrows individually and not the Traps. True, Falcone did have more contacts and employees in the Narrows, which was for sure. He had them manipulated, thus meaning Crane would have no problem sneaking his way in there and brainwashing everyone else. Something bothered me about the entire scenario. The Traps being left out in this plot for power seemed…odd.

I panted hard, the freshness of forest air mixed with the scent of pine, evening and wood played hard on my city-accustomed lungs. I knelt behind a bush, parting them with the back of my gloved hand, staring at the Manor. Surely they'd figured out that I'd pulled out the electricity? I waited a few seconds until my breathing resumed to normal. I squinted my eyes behind the mask and watched the window facing the forest line about 20 yards west of me. It was the music room, where Bruce had practiced his many arrays of talent as a child.

I counted to twenty before sprinting off again, careful to stay low and mixed with the tree and foliage. Suddenly a large fallen log appeared and I slid beneath it as if I was going for home-base and popped back up. Before I knew it I sloshed through a puddle of leaves, mud and stone and stopped. I rolled behind a huge Evergreen tree and peered out behind it. Now I was directly in front of the music room window and I watched patiently.

_12….13….14…. _my counting became hitched in my mind as I saw a white beam of light strike the window. Gasping, I whirled back behind the tree and dropped my right shoulder, rolling and popping back up behind another large tree, this one presumably oak and I watched the window. Finding it was black again, I waited a few more seconds. I began to count again. _6….7….8…._Another beam of light passed by the window. So, Ra's had retreated to flashlights? This man came prepared, that is all that I could say. Keeping low, I hurried from my place and wound between trees and retreated deeper into the forest.

I didn't know the forest on the Wayne's property too well…as children we never really took to the woods. Usually we played in the gardens and mangled Alfred's begonias. I knew that the Wayne's held over 1,000 acres worth of land. Someday Mrs. Wayne had planned to start a children's ranch for the mentally challenged. Glancing to my right, I spotted the silent Manor and kept running.

Up ahead a felled tree lay rotting diagonally. I swerved for the lower end and leapt up, grabbing hold of a much thinner, live branch. Swinging my weight forward, I lifted my legs and released the branch. I went soaring through the air; hit the ground and snapping a twig. Rushing back into a steady run, I placed a palm on a smooth rock quickly and pushed down, swinging my legs over another smaller one and bursting back into speed. I didn't mind showing off to the stars, for they held better judgment than some people I knew.

Journeying across the forest and around the Manor took all of twenty minutes. Every so often I caught a glimpse of sashaying light slipping in front of a glossy window. My heart leapt as I spotted the room of Thomas and Martha Wayne…likely where Bruce was held hostage.

It was unlikely he'd leave one of his best student's unguarded, so I'd have to find a way to distract Ra's patrollers. I stopped, peered through the bushes and spotted the small outline of a high, beautiful door. My stomach burned with newfound hope. It was the backdoor to the garage, the entrance from the garden. A memory dashed through my head.

Christmas Eve, my tenth grade year. It was my first time in a public school, where I'd started taking part-time classes. Mostly sciences and PhyEd. I'd gotten Alfred to hang a smidgette of mistletoe from that exact threshold in hopes of being able to kiss my best friend. Alfred had obliged. I'd stayed hidden in the shadows of Thomas' motorcycle collection, sitting beside the door, trying my best to keep my toes warm in my first pair of high-heels. I slightly remember the sound of girlish laughter as Bruce and Rachel came bounding from outside the gardens, painted with snowflakes and red-cheeks. They'd flicked on the light, I'd hopped to my feet, only to find in dismay that Rachel had already homed in for the kiss. They smooched while I ducked behind Thomas' cherished 1986 Harley.

My heart sunk inside my chest. That was right. Bruce had always liked Rachel more romantically. I was the dinner-after-a-break-up friend or the text-when-you're-bored buddy. I'd always been the better pitcher, the fastest runner or the best three-legged-racer. Rachel looked better on Covergirl or the Gotham Gazette, and I looked better from the bottom of a desk drawer.

"Focus," I chastened myself,

And focus I did. I stared at the front-door, gave myself the all clear and burst forth from the foliage. Running hard and fast, I came to the door quickly and reached for the trim. I scooted my fingers across the top, kicked the bottom of the door slightly, and then went for the latch. Slipping it open, I had to refrain from clicking on the light.

I reached for my thigh-belt and popped open one of the smaller compartments. I grabbed the small flashlight and clicked it on. A beam of white light landed on the same Harley from my memory, only now it was refurbished and polished to perfection. I tore my attention from it and hustled through the room.

I made my way to the door and jumped the small cement step that led into the mud-room off the garage. I then stopped as something caught my attention and spun around. My heart lifted, a smile played onto my lips, and fire ignited in my soul. Hustling to it, I rested my hand on the throttle and gripped the rubber with my gloved hand. A quiet chuckle pulled at my lips.

I shifted the bike into neutral and rolled it forward. Helping it up the cement steps, I clicked open the door quietly and peered around the edges, making sure everything was clear. Once it was, I led the bike over the threshold and around the corner.

Most of the attention would be focused on the foyer and the main corridor, or the steps. Ra's figured I would come up the front of the house, the same way I'd departed. He also presumed I didn't know the house as well as I did, considering I'd spend my childhood summer's here and three months after receiving word of Bruce's death. So, in essence, I knew this house fairly well.

Making sure I stuck in the shadows, I led the bike around corners and into hallways. I took the long way around the mansion, dodging most of the exits and entrances to the main corridor and foyer. So far I saw no guards. He probably had them stationed on the upper levels and around Bruce.

I dared a glance into the foyer, where only an hour before I'd felt like Princess Diana. It was completely empty, darkened by my brilliant scheme. I kicked down the kickstand to the bike and looked up the main stair case. Ra's body had risen after all, in command once again. I shrugged and swung my leg up over the bike and grabbed the handle-bars. Kicking it to a start, it roared angrily as if spouting off my anger. I shifted up and the bike lurched. It's strong engine roared loudly throughout the house, echoing off the walls and throwing its mad power back to me. I burst ahead and stood on the stands, taking the stairs roughly but managing well.

I angled left and the bike turned. I spotted a surprised and frustrated group of ninja's who swung about. They were late, and I braked hard. I stopped, stared at them and let my foot touch the ground. They glared hard at me and rushed, and I quickly drew my bow and nocked and arrow, aiming for the closest one. The arrow soared from my grip and pounded into his leg. He roared in anger and collapsed, gripping his leg. The one to the right hurled himself into an impressive show of front flips, while the other leapt and extended a leg as if to drop kick me. I replaced my bow, throttled hard and took off from them down the hall. Both of them hit the ground, sprang back up, and took off after me. Shouting obscenities, I glanced over my shoulder and had an idea hatch into my brain. I slowed, downshifted, and turned the bike around hard. Now stopped, I revved my engine, leg supporting my weight and the bike's and I stared dead head at them, who ran hard and silent to get me. Quickly I reached into my thigh belt and retrieved a line. I frantically wound it around the throttle, tied it to the foot-rest, and then swung my leg off. Without warning, I kicked the bike into first and it took off frantically ahead of me in a cloud of exhaust. Angrily it sped down the hallway and I took aim again.

Carefully positioning the arrow, I inhaled deeply and whispered an apology. Releasing, I followed through and the arrow struck the bike in the appropriate place. Instantly it exploded in a raging fireball, white and orange and yellow enveloping the Honda. The force of the explosion sent me back into the wall, knocking all air from my lungs and sending black spots dancing across my eyes. The windows rattled and the walls shook, fire erupting down the hallway and licking the doors and walls. Instantly fire alarms burst into song and newly-installed sprinklers erupted into action. Water came pouring down from the sky, and slowly the flames became held back.

Choking on smoke and gassy exhaust, I covered my mouth with my arm and got up. I maneuvered down the hallway farther, until I reached another staircase. I hustled up them, feeling weak and utterly exhausted. Bruises began to pound on my chest and my shoulders ached suddenly. Every breath hurt. I stumbled up the last of the stairs and looked around. The master bedroom was down here, to the right…second door.

Without warning, a door swung open before me. Sending back a few steps, I was now surrounded by newly formed ninja's. Three of them stood before me, held back by the patiently still Ra's. He stood in the middle of their triangle, staring at me with a strange, passionate desire. I straightened, coughed the rest of the exhaust from my lungs and glared back at him fiercely.

"I see you've already received a new identity," he clucked his tongue. "And I was so hoping that you'd find yourself with mine."

I narrowed my gaze at him. "I want nothing to do with the identity you have," I spat, "I know exactly what you are."

His laughter stung. "Oh? And what am I dear girl?"

"A dictator," I said coldly. "You want power. Just as Hitler and Mussolini and Caesar did. We already have one lunatic running around here, we don't need another."

He sauntered toward me, hands folded behind his back. His wanting eyes devoured me even behind the security of my suit. I felt examined and suddenly owned; two things which I desperately hated. He circled around me once, keeping his distance and chuckled. "It is not dictatorship that I desire, my dear. It is justice and…revenge. People like Caesar and Hitler are exactly who took away my one passion in life, and I want to see them fall. The League was there when their empires fell to ruins, though many do not know it," he gave me a cheeky half smile and stopped before me. "Jonathan Crane is exactly the kind of many who needs a powerful master to see to his bidding. He cannot be trusted to bring down an empire as powerful as Gotham."

Realization struck me like a lightning bolt, frying my nerves. "Jonathan? You mean _you're _behind Crane and Falcone? You stole the vaporizer?"

He applauded me sarcastically. "Very good. You're smarter than I originally presumed. As I said, Dr. Crane cannot possess such a powerful operation without observation. He needed guidance and….leadership. But he is exactly the kind of man I needed to directly attack the heart of this foul city," he frowned and approached me. I backed away and reached for my bow. He allowed me this and I nocked another arrow. "…and you're exactly the kind of woman I need to bring this city back."

I shook my ponytail. "No."

He frowned horribly at me and quickly reached out for me. Within an instant he seized my arrow and took it in his hands. He effortlessly snapped the body of the arrow as if it were nothing, letting the fiberglass fletching and the arrowhead drop to the ground by either side of him. Then he lashed out for me, but I ducked and dodged him. Snapping to attention, I watched him turn on his heel with grace and face me again. "Yes. Together we can build an empire, Marianne! You could have more power than Cleopatra, more riches than Hatshepsut. I could make you strong. We could _rule. _Rule, woman! Gotham could be at our fingertips. Our generations could be kings, queens, rulers! _Powerful. _You would be subject to no one than yourself," I swallowed hard as he stopped just inches from my face. His huge form stood at least a head and shoulders taller than myself, his daring and dangerous eyes piercing my own. He seized my shoulders and shook me slightly. "Bruce would live only to desire you. You would not be living in shadows of bats…you would be glorious."

His words manifested horror to my ears. I stepped back from him, brushed his hand from my shoulder, and shook my head in disbelief. The thought of being desired…such as this man suddenly "desired" me, to be wanted by Bruce…the thought stabbed a horrible trail of passion through my heart. To have such power would be absolutely astounding; changing the world….I could house the hungry. Hospitals could heal the sick. It swirled through my mind wildly….

"She doesn't need power."

The disturbance made me whirl around. My eyes became wide and my stomach dropped into the basement. It had never felt so good to hear such a growl scratch the air. Suddenly the fog in my mind was wiped away and hope flashed within my spirit. My lips burned with fire and a smile pulled at my cheeks. It took everything within me not to drop my bow and rush beside the figure before me. I swallowed and suddenly found that my heart was palpitating and my knees were weakened.

Ra's anger was evident. "How in God's name—"

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Ra's." Within an instant, he whipped his hand down and smoke burst forth in a mini explosion. Suddenly I was blind, and a hand brushed my arm from behind me. I jerked away, lungs suddenly enveloped with this gunpowder smoke. I hacked for air, and another hand seized my wrist. I was about to scream when another clapped onto my mouth. I smelled the remains of thick gunpowder and glove, and felt my body press into familiar Kevlar. Relief and adoration exploded within me and I allowed him to take me from the cloud.

We stumbled out and hustled own the hallway, my lungs seemingly to cook within the cavity of my chest. It didn't dawn on me until he wisped me down the steps, his cape quietly playing on the air in front of me that he might potentially know who I was. It didn't bother me. All I could think about how good it felt for him to possessively clutch my wrist, his run desperate to bring us both to safety.

Perhaps I was taking his knight-in-blackened armor rescue far too dramatically.

He released me as we reached the study. He shut the door and practically lunged for the piano. I stood, dazed, watching his terrifyingly wonderful form play a chord on the piano, and a creaking groan sounded from the bookcase. Instantly it parted and he hurried to it. When I didn't follow, he stopped, wisped aside his cape and frowned at me. "Come."

I obeyed, jogging towards the stairs. I slipped by him and he began to reset the code on the security box. It flashed green and the bookcase began to close again, leaving us in darkness. I felt his footsteps slip by me, and the tip of his cape brushed my thigh. I shivered and followed him down carefully, minding my footing in the darkness.

"Light." He rasped.

Instantly the darkness was lit. I stopped and looked around. It was a cavern, much like the ones I'd seen in books and movies. It was a high-ceiling, completely constructed of rock and darkness. It smelled musty and dank, much like mold, and rushing water played into my ears from a distance. It was brightly lit by construction lights and a huge computer set was installed into some of the rock-needless to say my mouth dropped open. I looked up, unaware that I was about to walk right into a stainless steel table. I bumped it and jerked back into reality.

"How did you...?"

He stopped me. "Not now." He clicked a few keys on the computer and the huge screen became consumed with mini screens. I recognized hallways and corridors, and within seconds Ra's and his men hustled into sight from around the corner. They began terrorizing rooms and rushing down the stairs. They stared quizzically at the charred hallway and steps and the smoking, burned bike. His men sloshed through waters as Batman glared at me. "Your work?"

"Mhm." I said quietly.

He shrugged slightly. "Impressive."

"Thanks." I wrapped my arms around my abdomen and approached him slowly, noticing that my footfalls echoed. I looked down and bit my lower lip. "Bruce, I'm-"

He whirled around. "Why didn't you tell me?" he voice rose a few octaves. "For God sakes, Marianne, you've been running around this city a….a masked vigilante! You could've gotten _killed_. Multiple times! What were you thinking?"

I looked up at him. "The same thing you were!" I shouted at him. He blinked at me and reached up for his cowl and ripped it off his head, exposing his full face. He shook out his damp hair and tossed the mask onto the keyboard of the computer. "And why didn't _you_ tell _me_? The same rules apply here—"

Instantly my voice was silenced as he rushed me, his gloved hands seizing my face and his head quickly lowering to my own. I pulled back hastily, only to have his pursue me, and without much warning, he pressed his lips onto mine with force. My back bent backwards out of surprise and my knees weakened and I stumbled beneath his sudden attack. Every wall of resistance fell as fireworks crackled to life on my lips, hot coals seemingly replacing his. My arms were raised and my hands were positioned as if I were going to claw his eyes out of his head. But my resistance fell and I softened, welcoming his kiss with reluctant trust.

Only when my nerves relaxed did he pull back, letting his hands drop from my face. I flushed bright red and swallowed. Without hesitance I forced the Venetian mask off my face and grabbed the binder from hair. Letting my massive amount of curls fall around my neck, I inhaled deeply and bit my lower lip.

"Oh God," I breathed.

He shook his head. "I don't believe this," he threw his hands in the air, "you're…_her. _I haven't been able to get he—you out of my head for a week, and here you are." He rubbed his chin forcefully and exhaled heavily. "Marty, why didn't you tell me?"

I didn't answer for a few moments. "Why didn't you tell me you were him?" I pointed to the mask. "It took you almost dying for me to find out."

"Wait-"

I rolled my eyes. "Never mind," I shouldered by him and grabbed the mask brutally. Then I pointed to the screen and began to replace my mask appropriately. I stopped only when his gloved hand grabbed my wrist. He pulled it down, the mask still in my hands, and then ran his thickly gloved fingers over my eyebrow.

"I just can't believe it's _you_."

I said nothing but replaced the mask quickly, a shake evident in my hands. I shook my head and exhaled shakily, watching as Ra's began to terrorize the Manor; ripping pictures off the wall and smashing objects. His ninjas tore books apart and broke mirrors, busted out windows and felled bookshelves.

"Ra's is behind Crane," I explained quickly. "He's going to take down the Narrows and release the inmates," I turned on my heel and began approaching Bruce's massive black tank. "He wants to tear Gotham down from the heart of the city."

He frantically put on his cowl and hustled beside me. "Okay. Did you alert Gordon?"

I nodded. "Taken care of. All we need is to get Crane and Stop Ra's. If he released that stuff into the air….it's going to be chaos."

He grabbed my wrist and led me toward another huge desk-looking table. He punched in a combination below the desk and the drawers released. I scanned the contents, finding his infamous batarang toys and other goodies-flares, flash-bangs, hooks, grapnels, binoculars, brass knuckles…anything and everything he would need. My eyes popped open when he handed me a heavy looking gun. "A grapnel. You can use it, right?"

I nodded. "Should be easy enough."

He gave me an array of other things. Communication devices, trackers, pagers, cameras and other technological devices. Also I received a tazer, twelve batarangs and six flash-bangs. He gave me another earpiece and lastly awarded me with a remote. He handed it to me but did not remove his hand from mine. I looked at him strangely and he gestured behind me with his head.

"Press it."

I did, reluctantly.

The floor beneath us groaned and vibrations shot up my legs and into my spine. I watched as the tank's platform shifted and slowly began to move to the left. I wrinkled my brow as steam arose from the platform and plates began to shift beneath the tank. Every so carefully I approached, curiosity plaguing my mind. Out of the depths appeared a black, sleek looking motocycle, but not your usual kind—it was a Spider, one of the new models of motorcycles. It was midnight black, with a deep purple colored seat, and a flash of cream-colored lettering along the fuel tank. It beautifully styled 'R' claimed the machine and I pivoted on my heel to stare at him quizzically.

"You…what is that?" I pointed to it. "You didn't."

He nodded. "I did. I was going to give it to you after your home was destroyed. I thought Reacher would need something to get her somewhere. You can't keep outrunning these guys on foot and by rooftop," he gestured to it with his head. "Get on it. It goes fast-very fast."

I laughed and trekked up the two steps to get on the platform. Tossing the tank a look, I focused my attention to the sleek Spider-cycle. Grabbing onto the throttle, I slowly slipped onto the seat and turned the key forward. It roared smoothly to life, rumbling beneath me with majestic, justly power. Adrenaline laced my veins and I revved up the engine a little and gave him a look as he began to close down his cave. Batman donned once more, he jumped one of the steps and approached his vehicle.

"Well?" he questioned darkly.

I chuckled. "It's gorgeous," I winked at him like I'd done before.

"I called it the Fist. But whatever you call it is up to you." He leapt into the tank and it closed around him. A slight crackling buzzed in my ear. "It's fast….but not as fast as the Tumbler."

Tumbler, huh? So that was the tanks name. I swung my leg over and shifted the baby into reverse. It purred magnificently beneath me and I throttled it lightly. "Care to test that theory?"

Bruce sprouted through the Bat, a chuckle evident over our communication line. "Oh yes. Definitely yes."

My laughter was drowned as I gunned it down, bursting from the platform and disappearing into the black abyss of the exit tunnel.


	18. Clicker

**Chapter Seventeen**

The Gotham air seemed light tonight-not cold, and not filled with the usual eeriness of filth and crime it usually possessed. I found it enjoyable, this sense of freedom and passion. Never before had I felt such power surge beneath me or such importance pump through my veins. My body was laced with adrenaline and my insides shook with excitement. I pushed the throttle on the Fist hard and quick, shifting perfectly and listening to the humming engine push along-and the rumbling grind up the dirt beside me.

In the end the race was completed as a tie-though I swore the nose of the Fist stuck out a good inch farther than Batman's acclaimed Tumbler. It didn't matter, I'd never felt my smile so big behind this mask, and I'd never seen his eyes spark with life so much after his parents' death. We were able to cross over to the Narrows on the northern bridge before the police arrived to close off the city.

In the moment as I dismounted my bike and he stepped off the tank, I realized how much I'd desperately missed his company, even as he was Batman now. I quickly tied my hair back into a much tighter messy-bun and checked my count of arrows.

He pressed the button on his receiver and the Tumbler began to lockdown. Stainless steel plating (which had been painted black, naturally), slammed into place over the slit windows, and the tires were sealed with titanium guard-plates. I heard something in the engine disengage, and lastly another guarding plate rolled over the top hatch. The machine seemed to sink low on the shocks, as if relieved of its duty. I blinked and then tucked a loose curl behind my ear.

"Nice system you got there James Bond," I said cheekily. "Does it work?"

"You bet it does," his voice was still in 'Bruce Wayne' mode, not yet changed to his dark, serious tone. "Here." he grabbed another smaller receiver from his belt and tossed it to me. I caught it smoothly and turned it over and over in my hands.

"A doodad? Huh," I chuckled, "What's this button do?"

I clicked it, and I gave my attention to the cycle. It clanked loudly and I gasped, and the machine rolled back a few inches before locking in place. It too had plate-guarding tire security and I heard a loud click sound from the steering column. It sank into its shocks as well. I blinked, furrowed my brow and I turned on my heel to face him. He was smirking at me, eyes wildly sparkling. He turned on his heel and his cape floated through the air with a sharp twist.

I caught up with him and we began walking south, towards the general direction where the bridges connected the islands. I heard sirens come up fast, and within seconds Batman seized my wrist and jerked me into the shadows. I collided with him with a thump and bounced off of him on my own accord. I pressed against the dumpster and watched as red and blue light danced off a building about 10 yards west of us. Thankfully our vehicles were concealed in the alleys-no one would venture this deep into the belly of the Narrows. No one resided here in these alleyways yet, and it seemed by the disarray around us that most of the people were evacuated anyway.

"It's the PD," He said, voice turned dark now, "They're sealing off the bridges."

I looked up at him. "You think Crane's off the island?"

He shook his cowled head. "Not a chance. He's here-I just don't know where. Ra's is going to meet up with him somewhere. Where, I don't know."

About to reply, I felt something vibrate against my thigh. I jumped to attention, unzipped a smaller compartment and pulled out my cell phone. Unlocking the code, I screened the call and found it was Leslie's number. "Leslie." It was more of a declaration than a greeting as I pressed the phone to my ear.

"_Marianne? Thank God!" _she sounded frantic, "_Where are you? Did you find Bru-"_

I cut her off. "Yeah, he's here. We're about three miles north from the southern bridge," I looked over my shoulder and found Batman pull out his grapnel gun. "Why?"

_"It's Gordon. He said everyone's off the island. They've got it sealed up tight. And Rachel..."_

My heart lept into my throat. I shot a worried look at Batman, who stopped and approached. "Rachel? What about Rachel?"

_"She's...on the isl-I'm sorry, officer, but I'm-"_

"Leslie?" I questioned as her voice became distant. I heard a rough, muffled voice talking back at her and she spoke into her phone again.

_"Officer, I know..." _A loud thunk and then a clap sounded over the line. I jolted in my place and the phone almost slipped through my gloved fingers. Batman tensed beside me and his breathing became somewhat troubled at the news of Rachel.

"Leslie?" I yelled into the phone this time. "Leslie!"

Click. I slapped the phone closed and stuffed it into my thigh pouch. Batman spun on his heel and his cape cracked the air. He hustled towards his previous place and withdrew his grapel gun. I rose and ran my gloved fingers through my hair. Exhaling a breath, I walked over to him and rested a hand on his thick, protected shoulder.

"She'll be okay, Bruce. Rachel's a fighter. I'm more concerned about Leslie," I whispered into the air. A twinge of jealously pierced through me. I somewhat wished that he'd be concerned about me and not _just _Rachel. It was somewhat unfair-but I pushed aside the thought. Crime chose no victims, and it didn't care about whom we loved. It just did what it did. "God is with Rach, even when she is not with Him."

He blinked at me, and then extended a hand. I blinked at it and a small smile spread onto my lips. "I know."

I took his hand and we rocketed into the air silently.

* * *

A pretty, shag-styled dark haired woman bounded up to Commissioner Jim Gordon, M9 drawn and a vial at hand. Her hair danced around her chin and her green eyes flashed up at him. She shouldered passed a huge SWAT Lieutenant who was setting up a perimeter around the water, and she extended it towards Jim.

"Commissh," she said rapidly, "Someone dropped this off for ya. Said her name was Thompkins. You two have some mutual friends...?"

_Batman and Reacher, _he thought to himself. "Sure do." He took the vial and rolled it around his fingers. "What she say it was for?"

Keanu shrugged her shoulder. "Counteracts Crane's toxin I guess. Montoya know about this?"

He nodded and waved her off. "Yeah, she's on the up-and-up." An innoculation? What for? Most of the drugs were in the water-at least that's what Batman's note said at the scene in Arkham. If it were indeed the case that it was in the water just as he'd said, then Gordon himself was already poisoned, they were all poisoned. He pocketed the vial and decided better safe than sorry if Batman was involved.

Sirens piereced the air in the distance. Vans of SWAT and Squad members rolled on-scene, officers and cops talked rapidly into mics and engines revved before taking off. Someone gave the all-clear for the southern bridge to raise, and it did so with a loud shriek. The shuffling of boots on concrete and the tangy scent of waste, stale water and harbor played on the air. A twinge of cold struck the air around them, and Gordon for a brief moment thought he could see his breath as he breathed against the chilling evening. Keanu mumbled into her mic and turned back to him.

"Hope you don't need it, Commissioner," she made a face, her emerald eyes flashing anger. "he can't be right about everything can he?"

"Unless Crane has a way of getting that crap into the air, it's unlikely I'll need it," he turned onn his heel and began to hustle through the hubub of police and firefighter activity. A few people were loaded into squad cars-even a SWAT van was filled with the last of the civilians (hopefully) and roared off towards the northern bridge. "and he might not be right about everything," he snorted sarcastically, "but that girlfriend of his has some pluck."

* * *

I squatted to my haunches and oversaw the situation. My eyes frantically scanned the area, mind whirling with thoughts. Ra's definately moved quick-he'd already started planning his backup plan across the city. I watched as two huge thugs-mostly ninjas-begin to plant small circular devices on the brick walls. I wrinkled my brow and handed the binoculars to Batman.

He raised them to his eyes. "I guess plan B is always an alternative," I muttered quietly on the breeze. He nodded and frowned. "Is he always this paranoid? Or is it just me?"

"Ra's likes his plans to work," Batman mused, "He's always prepared."

I fiddled with a strand of my curls. "But bombs? Isn't that a little extreme? "

"Nothing is extreme with Ra's," he shot me a look from the corner of his eye, "This is normal."

I rolled my eyes. "Great. Now we have two lunatics running around,"

He gave me a little smile and handed my binoculars back. "Speaking of lunatics," he rose to his full height and turned on his heel, his cape billowing out behind him. I rose as well and began to follow him across the roof. "One of us has to go after Crane."

I shrugged. "Duh. As much as I'd love to rip you're buddy's eyes out of his brain," I shrugged my shoulder overdramatically and tossed my palms up to the sky and rolled my eyes, "I'll find Jonathan. He might not be beyond reasoning."

"Smuggling drugs and trying to kill us isn't beyond reasoning?" he growled, "than what is?"

"Trying to make me a prisoner of some strange cult!" I said strongly. "Besides. Ra's is too experienced for me anyway," I smiled at him lightly. "I wouldn't want to die or anything."

He closed his eyes and shook his cowl slightly. "You still have your comm-link, right? I want to be able to keep in touch."

I nodded reassuringly. "Right-o. Now, I'll go get Jonathan and find Rachel. You stop Ra's and his army of ninja's." I was about to walk away when he seized my arm roughly and jerked me to a halt. I stopped, backed up a few paces, and blinked at him. He searched my eyes for a moment before Bruce slipped through his voice caught me off guard.

"Be careful, Marianne," he said quietly. "These guys are professionals. They know how to kill and won't think twice," he diverted his eyes from me and looked down. "I know. Keep on your guard."

I nodded and reached up on the tip of my toes and kissed whatever skin was available around his mouth. "I promise I will. But first," I slipped a syringe into his gloved hand and blinked twice at him. "Get that antedote to Rachel. We don't want to worry about her losing her mind," I turned on my heel. "If you need me, you know where I am."

He nodded. "Reacher."

I tossed him a look. "Yeah?"

"Play it safe."

I shrugged a shoulder. Then I tapped the earpiece lightly. "Will do. I'll keep in touch." I smiled at him and squatted to my haunches. "Don't be a stranger, stranger." I pushed back and soared off the back of the building, my feet colliding solidly with a fire-escape. I jumped over the edge and hit the ground running, towards the general direction of Arkham, where undoubtly Jonathan would be putting the finishing touches on his "medicine".

But, before I could intercept Jonathan, I would need a word with the Commissioner.

* * *

James Gordon was hustling through his crowd of police officer's, a walkie forever seized in his iron, experienced police-grip. He shoved passed a few Lieutenants, a few Sergeants, and a newscaster. He shouted rapidly in police-code and stopped only to chat with a red-headed woman.

He veered off, cut into an alleyway and spoke into his walkie again. Another officer jogged out to meet him, and they spoked in hushed tones. I watched from my position atop an abandoned water-tower, overlooking the chaotic mess of black-and-whites with flashing lights and SWAT vans grinding into dirt. I rested an arm on my knee and waited for Gordon to head back the way he came.

Finally he turned. I gripped my bow and pulled it from my quiver, then nocked an arrow. Taking aim, I loosly released the arrow and sent it skittering to the ground at Gordon's feet. He jumped back, pushed up his glasses and collected himself. Then, he looked up at me and I walked off the side of the water tower and grabbed the railing to the maintenance deck. I pulled myself over it and slid down the ladder, only to stop on the ground and approach him. He stood tall and his expression was that of a seasoned cop-but his eyes told me he was afraid of me, or was at least suspicious. He remembered my note attached to my arrow the night Batman dropped in to see him.

"Commissioner," I said, trying my best to put on a dark voice. He raised his chin and placed his walkie in the pocket of his faded, dirty, tan overcoat. He dipped his head in a silent hello to acknowledge. "We've never met, but you've had the pleasure of meeting my counterpart."

He nodded. "Yes, I have. A dark guy, if you ask me," he scratched the back of his neck. "I suppose he's filled you in on everything."

I tossed a look to the mess of squad cars and officers. "That he has. You have the innoculation?"

He squinted at me, confused. "Uh-huh. An older lady brought it to me. Said it was important?"

"It is," I plucked a syringe from my belt and gestured for him to give it to me. He complied and I drew up five milligrams of the stuff, which would be enough. I then handed the vial of liquid back to him and grabbed his arm. He pulled up the cuff of his sleeve and I roughly injected the needle into his vein. He said nothing. "It's an antidote to Crane's toxin. It's going airborne," I declared quietly. "You might want to outfit your squads with gas-masks. He has a vaporizor that's going to evaporate the water supply."

His brows rose a few inches. He looked away into the distance and sighed. "And that's where his toxins are," he ran a hand through his graying hair. "You guys cover your bases pretty well, huh?"

I said nothing, just tossed the syringe into the shadows, only before breaking off the needle and shattering the glass in my hands. I brushed my hands together to loosen the glass particles. "All you have to do is worry about the inmates," I replied casually. "We have everything else covered."

He blinked. "Okay then. You aren't by chance a cop, are you?"

I snorted. "Not a chance," I retrieved the gun Batman had given me and fired it into the darkness. A squealing struck the air then, as if it were breaks, and Gordon and I both whipped our attention to the southern team of squads. A newly arrived SWAT van had taken its place among the officers, and the back doors whipped open with a bang. A bunch of SWAT men dropped out the back, carrying automatic weapons and gas-masks. I swallowed as an older gentleman walked off the back of the car and addressed the men. I could just make out what he said before I hurled myself into the air.

"...and the word is panic."


	19. Knock

**Reader's Note:**

**Attn: **_Though Batman Begins' original plot has Ra's' death being on a commuter train and the city being struck with fear toxin, that is not the case with Ignite. There have been some editorial plot changes due to the author's imagination (and impatience). This story-line will NOT end the way Batman Begins does. This will be the only alert. Thank you for your attention and I apologize for any inconvenience_.

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

"…_and the word is panic."_

Scrambling up the side maintenance ladder of the water tower, I stood atop the structure and hurled myself across the gap between the water tower and the abandoned warehouse across from it. I hit the ground hard but took off towards the ledge before throwing myself to the ground and retrieving a small pair of binoc's from my belt. I raised them to my eyes as I watched the scene unfold. Ra's voice stung the air thickly, addressing the crowd as the PD men and women reached for their weapons and aimed directly at him.

Ra's put up his hands and chuckled. "Well, now that I have your attention," he motioned to his men to haul something off the back end of the truck. Something clicked closed behind me and I rolled onto my back, grabbing a shuriken and flicking my wrist back. Gordon put two hands in the air and ducked low, then lay beside me.

"_Reacher." _The buzzing in my ear intensified as he spoke. _"You copy me?"_

"Loud and clear," I whispered quietly, gesturing for Gordon to be quiet. "How's your end?"

"_Not good. Ra's isn't anywhere. All I've found is more explosives and a van. I checked it out and it's clean—just some ammo that I tossed and a pair of keys I confiscated. You?"_

"Oh, well, I have Ra's. He's here alright," I whispered quietly, rolling onto my stomach again and replacing the specks. "But no Crane and certainly no Rachel. He doesn't even have the vaporizer—" I cut myself off and nodded. "Oh, wait. There it is. It's _huge_." I dropped the binoculars from my eyes. "What's he up to?"

A door slammed-probably that of a van. I wrinkled my brow and glanced at Gordon. _"Don't know. I'm guessing Crane's probably in the city; though those role's should be reversed. Why would Ra's stay in the Narrows and leave Crane in the city?"_

I looked through the binoculars again to find Ra's' men ordering cops to the ground with AK-47's and Uzi's. I glanced over at Gordon and clapped my hand on his shoulder in a silent reassurance. He seemed to be fixated on a particular cop, a shaggy-haired woman with fair skin and a husky build. I thought hard for a minute until Batman interrupted me. _"You still there?"_

"I'm still here," I murmured, "What about the Traps?" I asked specutively. "Ra's wanted to attack Gotham from its heart—isn't the heart of Gotham the Narrows _and _the Traps? I mean, that's a pretty good sized army." I uttered quietly, watching as Ra's paraded himself in front of the cops and press.

Batman was quiet a minute and Gordon began to write something down on his palm. "_It's not a bad idea. But how would they get everyone off the island? And why would they plague the water? It doesn't fit together-if they vaporize the water, everyone in Gotham gets the stuff. Why only start here?"_

My mind drifted back to the night in the Asylum, where Rachel and I confronted Jonathan about his study and Falcone. He'd said that he only respected the power the mind had over the body, and how powerful it truly was, and how many people did not see life through his perspective. Jonathan feared the mind, but out of reverence. He also feared justice, and law…getting caught. I wrinkled my brow and thought about the expression on his face that night.

"…_**I only respect the power the mind has over the body…"**_

My mind turned over and over with the thought. "Body…body…body!" I exclaimed, pushing myself up from the rooftop and hustling towards the door Gordon had come through. I began pacing in the shadows. "Jonathan said he respects the power that the mind has over the body,"

"_What does that have to do with—"_

I shushed him, believe it or not and continued pacing. "His toxin affects the minds psychological capacity to produce hallucinations, visions and ultimately insanity. It affects the way we see our bodies, as in distortions, pain and/or mutilation. Also it affects our emotional stability…" I stopped and whipped a glance over my shoulder, in the direction of the slumbering Gotham. "Oh gosh. He's going to use the inmates!" I whispered harshly.

"_The inmates?" _ Batman repeated. _"What is he going to use the inmates for, Reacher?"_

I pounded down the steps, uncaring that I was probably making far too much noise to be the element of surprise. "He's going to use the inmates' deluded minds with his toxin to take over Gotham from the _heart_!" I growled. Gordon followed after me. "We have to find Jonathan,"

Batman went silent over the line, and Gordon voiced next. "What's going on?"

She stopped and tossed him a look over his shoulder. "We have to stop Ra's," I tucked some hair behind my ear, grabbing my bow and opening an office door once I reached the main floor. I kept low and pressed against the wall right next to the window. "Once we get him, Crane follows suit."

"What are you talking about?" He lowered himself next to me.

I nodded once and peeked through the faded, moth-eaten curtain, "Jonathan is being controlled by that man," I gestured to Ra's with my head. "If we take him down we stop this whole fiasco. Crane will only release the toxin once he has the okay. He's too weak to do this himself."

"Do what?"

"Take over the city," I sighed, exasperated. "Crane wants to use the minds of the inmates-deluded with his toxin-to take over the entire city. At least, Ra's wants to use Crane as a pawn. He'll probably get rid of him as soon as the job's done."

"How does that involve the vaporizer?"

I shook my head. "I dunno. Ra's also has bombs planted all over the Narrows—and probably the Traps." Lifting the window slowly, making sure no one made any movement to compromise my position. Once everything was clear, I leaned slightly over the window, lifting my bow and grabbing an arrow with slow, careful finger. "He'll probably use the vaporizer once they're in the heart of the city, to add the finishing touch. I doubt he'd start here-it would be too difficult to get into the city with lunatics running around."

Gordon wrinkled his brow as I took careful aim. "It would also be harder to get _respect _from such lunatics."

I smiled at him and chuckled, pinching an eye closed and bringing up my aim carefully.

"Exactly."

* * *

_THWACK!_

The crowd gasped heavily and parted back a few steps, the plaster of the brick sprinkled down to the ground, silently; _affirming. _Ra's stared at it with confusion for only a brief instant before his goatee and mustache upturned with a slick and arousing grin. He looked up and snapped his attention to the direction of which the weapon had come.

It was vacant, the open window, hints of flittering curtains flowing on the breeze of what had been—or what was still—there moments ago. A half smile tickled his features and he pointed to the building with a gloved hand, placing his other on the hilt of his samurai sword. "Go. Don't let her out. Bring her to me. Alive." His commands were short, brisk and strong. Three men hurried to do his bidding, light on their feet as the infiltrated the building.

Then, turning on his heel, he gestured for some more of his men to move the vaporizer to another van, where it would be taken to the station platform in the Traps. The hefted it in carefully, a billion-dollar machine slowly vanishing into the black belly of the SWAT van, his men filing into the vacancy. The doors thudded closed and the tires squealed before the van lurched off in a cloud of exhaust.

Ra's made his way over to the brick wall, staring admiringly at the arrow protruding from it, a small crack in the brick at the tip of the arrow, where it had hit on impact. Carefully and meticulously he plucked it from the wall and brought the tip to his nose, inhaling the scent of fiberglass, steel and-strangely enough—lilac. A chuckle escaped him as he held it over his head to the small crowd of Gotham PD.

"This," he proclaimed loudly, "is what Gotham has come to-"

With that he took it and broke it over his knee, it shattering and dropping to the ground on both sides of him. A smirk painted on his face and he turned on his heel, giving them his back.

"-Brokenness."

* * *

Hustling from the room, gun bore at his side, Jim Gordon followed the mysterious character of a woman through the dark, dusty entrails of the abandoned Hoopla factory. His eyes darted every direction and every nerve within him was raw with tension, and with every shadow they ducked inside he felt his skin turn even colder than the previous. But, he followed her nonetheless, and somewhat depended on her certainty and sense of direction.

"We have to get Ra's away from the vaporizer," she breathed quietly to him, "And bring him down."

"How?" he whispered back hoarsely.

"I'm not sure exactly."

His brows rose in confirmation. "I see," he said nervously, "You're friend have any ideas?"

A smile tugged at her cheeks. "Oh yeah. I'm sure it's brilliant." She sounded hesitant as she retrieved another arrow and knocked it reassuringly in the bowstrings. "Now we just have to meet up with that SWAT van and—"

"-let go of me you filthy rat…" the voice echoed off the walls a flight of steps below them, and Reacher shot to attention. She listened carefully, like a cat, tilting her head to the side to get a better listen to the footsteps. The voice continued, and Jim swore he recognized it. "Unhand me you ruffian! If you want me to walk, I'll walk."

"_Leslie_?" Her voice flooded with disbelief. She swallowed and ducked into another set of shadows, him following carefully, minding his footing on the squeaky boards of the building. She strained to see over the railing of the steps to get a better view of what was happening downstairs She squatted, bow still drawn, and waited; eyes ever scanning.

"Shut up!" a heavily accented voice hissed, and something fell over—to Jim it sounded like a chair or a table bumping around the floor. Then there was a struggle, shuffling feet and humphing.

"Don't you dare hurt her! Lay one hand on her and so help me…" her voice was muffled by a squeal and then a rock on wood. She'd probably been seated roughly next to her friend. Jim shot a look to the vigilantress, who lowered her aim and closed her eyes, hanging her head in disappointment.

"Rachel." She murmured quietly. "He's got Leslie and Rachel."

A soft scraping was heard and they both perked; nerves raw with tension. Gordon felt a wisp of air, and then a cool blade pressed gently against his neck, hot breathing low and steady by his ear. He glanced over at Reacher, finding her bent over, kneeling on the ground, palms flat on the floor, her bow taken from her in the hands of a blackened ninja-warrior. A long, elegantly designed white and red samurai sword pressed against the back of her neck, the man himself crouching to hover next to her.

"Up." He ordered briskly. With that, Gordon pushed himself up on old and achy joints, and was roughly pushed against the railing which shook beneath his weight His hands were jerked behind him and clasped. Reacher got up slowly, steadily, blade still pressed behind her neck. Without warning, her hands were jerked behind her as well and she was harshly slammed into the railing, to the point where she gasped and huffed. She sank to her knees and roughly exhaled as the end of the railing slammed into her breast-bone.

"Lovely to see you again my dear," the light-haired 'leader' of the army clucked his tongue. He removed the blade from her neck with a flick of wrist and replaced it in its hilt, then grabbed her arm by her armpit and roughly yanked her to her feet. She stumbled but managed to stand. "So glad you could join me. I see you've managed to find your friends?"

She glared at him and then with a quick smirk she managed to spit right in his face. "Does that answer your question?" Two ninjas seized her arms and she struggled, but only briefly as Jim was led down the steps. She began to vanish from sight when he heard and pop and then a sharp slap. She growled under her breath and then was sent down the steps with her captors, right after him.

The other two women—Rachel and Leslie he recalled—where indeed tied to chairs, just as he suspected. Two others were briskly placed beside them in line, and the ninjas returned to stillness. Jim complied, sitting slowly in his assigned place, allowing them to tie his hands to the back of the chair with coarse rope. Reacher sat silently and compliantly as well, not looking at the women by allowing her brown curls to fall over her eyes. Once tied, she slumped forward, anger emanating from her hard, cold body language. The man she called Ra's knelt before her and tipped her chin up slightly, where Jim spotted a trickling red line of scarlet blood dripping from the corner of her mouth.

"Smile my dear," he cooed, "I will allow you the dignity of your identity in company of your friends." She jerked her head away from his hand and set her face in a frown, unwilling to look at him. He tilted his head to the side and tucked some of her hair behind her ear and stroked her cheek affectionately. "You are lovely, aren't you?"

"Go away." She spat back at him. Jim wondered briefly it she was ladylike enough not to use the _filthy _definition of that statement.

"You say that now," he stood and kicked the leg of her chair, sending it wobbling and smacking into the floor, her chin colliding with it with a smack. The other two ladies gasped and the older one let out a sob. The vigilantress moaned, gasped for breath and spit droplets of blood in a mist from her mouth. She looked at Ra's from the top of her eyes and managed to mumble something. "But you will be pleading with me to rescue you from the coming hell." He looked down at her and turned on his heel.

Jim heard her mumble from the ground. "God help me if I do."

A tickle of a chuckle arose in his mouth, but he swallowed it back and looked out the window. Ra's slipped out the door with his men, leaving Reacher to bleed slowly and miserably on the floor. Jim gulped and looked down at her and then back to the darknening window, watching as grey clouds slowly began to charge in the skies above them. "I hope that boyfriend of yours has a listening ear."


	20. Kneel

**Chapter 19**

Once the thumping of Ra's men's footsteps faded into nonexistance, Reacer moaned and pushed herself up with her knees. For a moment she staggered, the immense finality of her weight almost too much for her kneecaps to bear. But, when she gritted her teeth, she was able to spit whatever blood from her mouth she could. A stray patch of her curls slid down her cheek and covered her masked eyes. She closed them and exhaled slowly and quietly.

Reacher was able to push herself far enough up on her knees that she could extend one foot out flat on the ground. Now with most of her weight supported on her leg and not her knee, she positioned the chair so that most of the weight rested on her back. Then, she balanced briefly on her one foot and was able to place her other flat next to her. Back muscles strained and burning with fireballs of pain, she was able to stumble foreward. Now a hunched over ball of vilgiatress, she seated herself directly behind the Commissioner's chair. She shifted her hindquarter's back and the chair hit the ground with a definately smack under her weight. Sweating bullets, she used the heels of her boots to push herself back against Jim's chair.

"See if you can loosen my binds," she whispered to him. He looked part-way over his shoulder and nodded, voice somewhat in disbelief as he replied.

"Alright. Hold still." He began to wiggle his fingers beneath the slack of the ropes and went to work. Reacher shot a look to Ms. Rachel Dawes and Dr. Leslie Thompkins, who both looked frightened, yet determined while the odds were ever against them. She swallowed the frog in her throat.

"We're going to die." the younger girl, Rachel, said quietly, hanging her head. "He's going to kill us."

"Hush now!" Dr. Thompkins hissed at the young woman, "Don't say such things. The Lord will prevail in times of darkness. Light penetrates even the darkest of nights."

A smile tipped up the corner of Reacher's mouth. "I can't get it," Jim exasperated, "It's too tight." Reacher looked around the room and wiggled the binds with her wrist. She looked down to her uniform and blinked at her thigh pouch. She had something to get it untied, but the question was how to get it off her thigh. She furrowed her brow and spoke.

"Once we get out of this," she began, "I want you two off the island," she looked to the doctor and the lawyer. "Batman and I will go after Ra's. Crane is in the city, but that won't matter once we have Ra's under control." Extending her legs as far as they would out in front of her, Reacher slid her bottom down the chair, arms screaming out in pain. She looked to the corner of her chair and then to the bottom-most strap of her pouch. "It's all a matter of getting Ra's into play."

"But how? He doesn't seem like the compromising type." Rachel spat back. "What leverage are you going to use against him?"

Reacher slipped a bit farther down her chair, moving her leg to position the strap over the corner of the chair. "I have a...contact," she began, "that Ghul is rather fond of. Once I have her, he'll comply. I'm sure of it."

"And how do you know that?" Leslie exclaimed defiantly. A chuckle broke through her lips. Finally her strap latched onto to corner, and she pulled her leg up. It slipped over her knee, and then she extended it again, and it slid down her shin and wrapped around her foot. Spinning it so the top of the pouch rested in the cradle of her foot, she crossed her leg over her knee and slipped her foot out of the straps of the pouch. Then she bent and took it in her mouth, resting the bulk of the pack against her shoulder and grabbing the pull-zipper with her teeth. Snaking it across the bag, she pulled the last batarang from the pouch with her teeth and let the pack fall to her lap.

She used her feet to spin the chair and she dropped the tool in Jim's hands. "Use this." She then scooted back up to him and he began to saw at her ropes, and finally the last one broke free with a hard pull. Roughly shaking the binds from her wrists, she got up from her chair and grabbed the tool, cutting Jim's binds free.

She then stopped and smiled at Leslie. "I just know."

Once they were free, she bolted towards the window and looked down. "How high is it?" Gordon asked, pushing by her to get a good look. It was about a twenty foot drop, give or take; much too high for Rachel and Leslie to manage alone; with a target of a full Dumpster precariously chanting out to them from below. Reacher scanned the ground and pressed the comm in her ear.

"You there, crusader?" _Please be there, Bruce! _she asked diligently. "We've got a situation."

A crackle and then his deep reply. _"What situation?"_

"Hostages. Dr. Thompkins, Miss Dawes, the Commissioner and myself. You anywhere nearby?" she scanned the area outside, making sure there was cover in case there would be gunfire. "Batman?"

_"I'm north of you, about three blocks. Right by Leslie's clinic." _He breathed short and raspy on the other end and she wrinkled her brow in concern. _"Is Rachel alright? Leslie?"_

A twinge of sorrow plagued her heart. "They're fine. Yours truly's suffering from a bloody mouth and a sore chin, but mostly wounded pride," she thouht he'd enjoy her two cents worth of guilt. "Ra's has the buildings guarded I'm sure, but-"

The door to the room cracked open, showing two men dressed in black garb, with a beautiful black-haired woman leading them. They spoke in rapid Tabetan, then burst through the threshold of the room. Reacher whipped around and slapped her elbow into the window, the glass shattering with wicked delight, and she practically began pushing Gordon out the window. "Go! Now! Go, go, go!" Gordon dropped out the window, into the trash, and scrambled out.

Two men charged her and grabbed one of her arms, but she pivoted and lifted her leg, slamming the heel of her boot into his collarbone. He released, and she pivoted again, this time dropping a shoulder and lifting him over her back. She then slammed him into the wall, ducked, and shoved Leslie out the window from her legs. She tumbled out, screamed, and Reacher heard the rustle of garbage bags.

"AHH! Let go!" Reacher spun around, seeing that the other man and seized Rachel, dragging her by an arm and the hair towards the door. Quickly Reacher took off after her, clearing the chairs and using one to spring-board off of. She extended a leg and drop-kicked the man, who shoved Rachel out of the way and into the wall. Reacher pinned into the ground and grabbed at his cheeks with her fingers, tossing a look to Rachel and pointing towards the window.

"Go! Go now!" she screamed. Rachel hustled for the window, tripping over a fallen chair and lamp, then practically lunging for the sill she reached out her arms and pulled herself through. She swung a leg over and leaned halfway out. Reacher watched her go a moment too long, and the man raised a leg and slammed heel into her shoulders. She humphed, slumped forward and the man rocketed a fist into her chin. Shocked and dazed, she slumped off of him and rolled onto the round, cradling her pounding head.

He did not stop there. He rib-shotted her, sending spiking amounts of pain searing up her chest cavity. All the air plunged from her lungs, and she spitted blood from her mouth. It was gooey and slimy, reminding her that the blood was coming faster than it could clot. She rolled onto her back, gasping for breath when she heard a blood-curdling scream erupt from the window. It stopped the man from giving her another rib-shot, and he turned to look over his shoulder. Rachel had retreated back into the room, against the wall, trembling and screaming, tears falling from her eyes.

Reacher could barely make out the figure from the window through blotchy vision, but she heard a snap on the window and boots hit the floor. She squinted her eyes and tried to clear her vision, but only found a blob of blackness approach quickly. The smaller blob, which she assumed to be the ninja attacker, thrusted a hand forward, but the bigger blob dodged the attack. Rachel was screaming and huddling into the corner, and Reacher forced herself up on shaky arms. She was able to gather breath in her lungs and she stumbled for Rachel, one had resting against her wounded ribs. She slumped next to Rachel and pointed towards the window.

"Go. You have to go now," she explained with a rasp, "You don't have much time." Rachel shook her head and placed her hands on Reacher's shoulder.

"No way. You're hurt," she trembled, "I can't leave you here."

"I'm not giving you a choice!" Reacher snapped. She bolted to attention when the ninja came tumbling across the floor, Batman popping back up from his position on the ground. He charged the man, the ninja popping to his feet like a piece of popcorn and using the wall to whip himself passed Batman in a black vision of fury. They combated across the room, all the way to the adjacent wall, and Reacher grabbed Rachel's wrist. She pulled her forward, hunch-running towards the window. She pushed Rachel to it and helped her over the sill. "Get off the island. Get out of _Gotham_." she hissed. "Get safe."

"What about-"

"-we can handle this!" Reacher shouted, "Now GO!" She gently shoved Rachel off the sill and she went screaming down into the dumpster, where Gordon and Leslie scrambled to help her out of it. Reacher leaned out the window and watched the three of them hurry from the scene, safely. Relief overcame her as Gordon led them around a corner, out of sight and into the awaiting shadows. She exhaled but then sharply moved out of the way, as a chair came sailing towards her.

She leapt into action. Batman was struggling to corner the ninja by the now closed door, where apparently the ninja had whipped the now broken chair towards Batman. They stood, facing each other, taking deep breaths of air, silent. Reacher poised herself next to Batman, watching this attacker with eyes like a predator, trying to possibly anticipate his next move. Batman's glare was deep on this man, who looked between them. They were quiet when heavy boot-falls echoed down the hall. Two more figures appeared into the room-the black haired woman and a strong looking man, with arms as wide as her thighs.

"Bring Azana and the others to me." the woman whispered. She continued, letting her icy gaze sweep over the two before her. "Wonderful to see you've survived my assassins," she cooed lovingly, waltzing in-between the attacker and two vigilante's. "Pity you only survived to meet my pets." She snapped her fingers and a string of men entered the room, carrying large boxes. Batman and Reacher relaxed, and Reacher glanced over her shoulder to only nudge Batman with her elbow. To their dismay the room had silently filled with more assailants, this time each of them armed with samurai's. Three of them held massive SKS' pointed directly at the two vigilante's. Batman gave her a look that read "complacency".

They stood tall, relaxed, and instantly they were seized by the assailants; ever the while the massive guns pointed directly at the back of their heads. Reacher was forced to her knees by the man she'd pinned with a rough jab to her ribs again. Her hands were forced onto her head, and Batman went down next to her, both lowered before this slim, dark haired woman before them. Her lips were painted ruby red with lipstick, her eyes heavily colored with indigo and silver eyeshadow, and her hair was braided into a perfect braid down her back, gracing the back of her knees at the end. She was olive-skinned, Asian looking, with a tattoo of a snake running up her neck and resting at the temple next to her eye. A red stone had been implanted into her skin next to her eye, symbolizing the eye of the serpent.

She directed her next statement to Reacher. "I've heard you fear serpents," she signaled for a man to step forward. "It's a shame, really. They're magnificent creatures." She opened the box the man was holding and reached inside. Carefully and slowly she lifted out a small constrictor, which she wrapped around her next and kissed tenderly on the head. "Isn't she glorious?"

Reacher swallowed a lump in her throat. "You're sick-" Batman began.

A man popped his head into the door. "Miss Ular," he said quietly. "Azana is ready for you. She's getting restless."

The woman, Ular, chuckled and nodded, waving him in once with her hand. "How grand." she looked back to Batman, and then ultimately leveled her gaze on Reacher, who'd locked tight in a frozen position. "I'd like you to meet my pride and joy..."

Reacher gasped as the object of Ular's praise was welcomed inside by the woman. "...Azana."


	21. Follow-Through

**Chapter Twenty**

He watched Reacher's brow wrinkled from her place on the floor as this mysteriously psychotic woman graciously lifted the serpent's head with her fingertips and planted an affectionate kiss on the creature's nose. The python flicked its tongue back at her as if to return the kiss, and Ular giggled somewhat wickedly as she directed her attention back to Reacher. She shivered and swallowed the rising amounts of stomach contents threatening up her throat. She wiggled the binds behind her back and looked at him from the corner of her eye.

Ular moved towards the door, reaching a hand out and wiggling her fingers to the awaiting guests outside the room. Reacher looked away for a moment to the ground, trying her best to move her wrists as much as they would to loosen the binds. Apparently the ninja-guard watching over her did not appreciate this, for he took two heavy strides towards her and slammed the heel of his hand at the base of her neck. Her neck popped awkwardly and her teeth slammed down on top one another, sending a chattering clap through her jaw line. Spasms of fireballs rocketed down her spinal column, rattling all her discs and vertebrae's, until a second later she realized she was heading into a collision with the wooden floor again. She rolled onto her side to save her chin and her shoulder smacked onto the floor.

At this, Ular stalked over and swung her leg overtop Reacher's body to straddle her. She squatted down and seized Reacher's jaw line with her hands, her dark eyes scanning around her face for any trace of intimidation. Finding now, she roughly released Reacher's face and slammed her head into the wooden floor with a thunk. A man hurried to her and placed a long strip of black tape across her mouth, much to Reacher's resistance.

"Leave her alone," he growled at them. A chuckle erupted from Ular's throat and she turned to face him. She flaunted towards him, crossing one foot over the other as the heels of her boots clacked tauntingly on the floor with each stepped. She unwound the serpent from around her neck and set him on the floor, the creature motionless for a moment. She then knelt beside the serpent, tossed a smile in his direction and then rapped her knuckles rhythmically on the floor three times. Batman stopped and looked up at her, and then her creature. She got up slowly and approached him.

"Oh, rest assured," she chuckled, intertwining her fingers and pressing them around her mouth. She sauntered up to him and placed her hands on his shoulders. "_I _will leave her alone. But Jamal, I'm afraid, has taken quite a liking to your friend here." She gestured to the serpent, who slowly slithered his way up over Reacher's leg and around the front of her. "And Azana just loves dinner guests." Ular looked over her shoulder. "Bring her in."

Batman gave his full attention to the door, where two men hastily hustled in and took to the back wall, in line among the others. They're expressions were hard to read—somewhat of obedience, somewhat of obligation. But, as one of the men looked frantically to the door but snapped back to attention as Ular tossed a look to the door, something told Batman that this was a threat—a threat to men trained to be threat itself. She then turned back to him, the red jewel embedded by her temple catching the light and glaring back at him. A smile crept onto her face and she traced around his mouth with a long, green fingernail. She rapped on the ground again twice, and then looked over her shoulder.

"You see, Batman," she looked to Reacher, who stared horrifically at the serpent Jamal now slowly climbing up her body. Reacher began to wriggle in her binds, the animal cringing back but then taking coarse again when she ceased. Ular laughed and pressed a fingernail to her lips, as if suppressing a girlish giggle. "People believe that snakes do not have the ability to hear, or have ears for that matter," she knelt down in front of him and scanned his eyes with her own, then took his jaw in her hands and directed it towards Reacher's body. "but I can tell you that they do. Oh," her voice moaned as if in immense pleasure, "they do. You see, serpents have fully formed inner ear systems. Those systems are complete with a cochlea. With snakes, however," she chuckled, "that cochlea is connected to the jawbone, for lack of better description." She got up and approached Reacher, rolling her onto her back carefully, so that the serpent rested precariously on her breast. "With nothing more said," Ular giggled, "if you walk past a snake that's resting with its head on the ground, the vibrations from your footsteps will vibrate on the animal's jawbone, thus shaking the snake's cochlea, so the animal can hear you move." She rolled her attention to Reacher.

"I know this." Batman said darkly. "What's your point." It was more of a command than a question, which is how he intended it to be. He then shot a look to Reacher, who began to tremble as Jamal, the hideous creature, ascended up over her breast and towards her neck.

"My point is," she got up and faced the other direction, "I, in all my years of snake charming and research," she stepped aside and allowed him full-view of the creature to which her statement was directed.

He jolted in his place, whether he meant to or not. He had every instinct to shove himself off of his knees and off the floor. He'd never been horribly afraid of serpents, not to the extent Reacher was, but had distanced himself from the creatures as to avoid discomfort. But, his gaze was fixated on the creature in front of him, and he felt the organ he remembered as his heart pound heavily, like a weight, along his ribs. He then looked to Reacher, who eyes widened at him and begged for information—anything which could save her from her attacker.

Before him, where Ular knelt and cooed, sat perhaps the biggest serpent he'd ever laid eyes on. He knew they grew to huge sizes and he thought they never ceased growing, but he'd never imagined seeing one this large before. He swallowed a heavy and dry breath, then looked to Reacher and began to frantically think of a way to get them both out of this.

The creature was multi-colored, black, grey and a stone color green which he'd never really seen on any animal before. Its eyes were pits of dark, unforgiving black that were threatening and cold—seemingly like those of a serial killer. It had to be as wide as fore of his own thighs and nearly fifteen feet long—easy big enough to kill a dog, coyote, or even a small child. Nonetheless it was large enough to kill a full man, given it constricted tight enough. He raised his chin slightly to appear less intimidated; if not for his sake, Reacher's. Ular chuckled and began to stroke the animal's head. She continued with her statement.

"I have discovered a way to…" she looked for a word, "_teach _these magnificent animal's to obey commands. And Ra's has provided me with all my subjects." She extended a hand to gesture to her pet monster, Azana. "And Azana is my prize pupil. Using the vibrations that tickle the cochlea in the snake's jawbone to my advantage, I have trained this animal's from birth to recognize commands. It's like training a dog really—you tell them something and reward them. With Jamal I have told him to claim his territory." She gestured to the serpent sliding off Reacher's breast and onto the floor. "And I have told Azana," she rapped a rhythm on the floor for a few moments and then stood, "to kill them both. As far as she is concerned she is the biggest creature in the room, and this is her territory. She will kill Jamal if I do not rescue him, and she certainly will kill your friend here—since she is now thoroughly soaked with Jamal's scent. You see, African rock pythons are aggressive," she chuckled, "and have extremely large teeth. I feel that she will find it quite a challenge to devour your lady friend—before she kills her."

Ular allowed Jamal to slither into her palm, and she retrieved the animal to the box from which it came. By this time Batman was steaming, anger possessing him like mad dogs on a steak. His breathing was labored, and he looked to Reacher, who was pale and pleading with him to do something—though her eyes were filled with an emotion he had seen only in Rachel in his younger years.

That emotion had been desire.

Ular commanded something in her language, which he made out to be Indonesian, and she walked to him, then gazed lovingly at her creature who'd taken to the wall, ever eyeing Reacher as if plotting to finish her off slowly. Ular smiled at him and tipped his chin up, letting her long fingernail trace his skin tenderly. Then she tipped her head to the side and bent foreword, whispering in his ear with hot breath, "I never really much enjoyed bats," she giggled seductively, "but I'm sure I could." She pointed to her pet and touched his jaw with her mouth. "Play nice." She let her tongue run gently across his skin before he jerked away, hitting the floor with a thud. She laughed and shooed away her men.

"Ra's, my darling!" she called to the outer hallway. Instantly Ra's strong form enveloped the doorway, and he looked to the both of them, confusion dotting his features. He then rushed Reacher, but Ular stopped him with a claw-like hand to his chest. She stood on her toes to plant a kiss on his lips. "Come. We have much work to do before sunrise."

"I told you I wanted her alive," he hissed, tossing aside her hand as if it were nothing. Insulted, Ular shrank towards the door and gestured to Azana. "I _need _her alive if we have any hope of keeping my blood in this is League. My only blood has-"

"—hush now." She sauntered around him as Batman used his shoulder to push himself back to his knees. She took Ra's face in her hands and kissed him passionately on his lips, then pulled away and looked down to Reacher. "There are others. Others which are better—"

"—I wanted her!" he bellowed. "Let your pet play," he glared at the beast, "only enough to keep her alive. And then I want her brought to me. Alive." He pointed a finger at Batman. "And you, my friend, will live only to see her brutally ripped away from you. If you have no dignity to claim what you love, than you have strength to keep it." He glared at him and turned towards the door. He paused to glance over his shoulder. "I will have her. And you will rot in a cell watching her thrive under me, maybe as she would have if you would've claimed her."

"You can't claim women, Ghul! You can't force their love." he shouted at him. The beast screeched a breathy hiss at them and coiled farther into a ball. Ular waltzed towards the door, stepping out and leaving the three of them.

"I know that." He said slyly. "The real question is: do you, Bruce? All this time you have desired someone who was not yours. Forced her to recognize your intentions. But, she has slipped away from you." He looked to Reacher. "All the while you've had someone screaming at your face, begging you to love her, starving for any piece of attention you might toss her. She will come to adore me. To _love _me. And you, Bruce Wayne," he shook his head. "Will be a memory."

He slammed the door into place, voice silent. Though his words echoed like a rocket blasting into orbit around Batman's ears.

* * *

Jonathan Crane stepped aside as Ra's descended the stairs, Ular beside him. He ordered something to his men in Tibetan, and Crane hastily moved over as they rushed passed him like black night. He smoothed his hair and handed the receiver to Ra's, gesturing by nudging it forward. Ra's looked at it and then at the scientist, expecting a report.

"Everything is in place. The vaporizer is calibrated. Everything is set to systematically erupt at the exact moment you press that button. It's all done."

"And you're sure the toxin is prepared?" He asked coolly.

Jonathan nodded, looking up the stairs. "Yes. What has he done with her? Is Marianne—_alive_? Did he keep her alive, or is she dead?"

Ra's looked to the receiver and then whispered something to the woman, who walked over to the table of weapons and grabbed a Velcro case. He nodded and chuckled, then took the case from Ular and pulled out the Baretta.

"Dr. Lancer has been…" he rolled his eyes to the ceiling and slammed the magazine into the grip of the handgun. "…accounted for."

Then he pointed, and Jonathan heard three bangs before all light vanished from his eyes….

…before he closed them.

* * *

**_Scientific Snake Information Provided By: _**Karen Hopkin of Scientific American


	22. Steady

**Chapter Twenty-One**

All-too familiar fear found its way around Reacher's vocal chords, denying her brain all intelligence of her speaking process to fade from her mind. It seemed as if English was a foreign language now, her tongue now accustomed to the dryness of dumbness. It was hard to breath, hard to see, hard to _live _with that monster sitting along the wall, not twenty feet from her body, eyeing her as if she were a pathetic mouse instead of a heroic vigilantress. She shot a look to Batman, who rigorously fought his binds, swinging his arms beneath him so they were now in front of him instead of behind.

Reacher-or perhaps it was Marianne-rested her head against the cool floor, listening to the quietness of solidity beneath her ear. She closed her eyes, the frightening serpent gone from her vision, and breathed in and out slowly, focusing on the one task that would keep her calm. In the depths of her memory and the serenity of her youth she remembered the venom which laced her veins in the hot, Australian desert. She remembered the immaculate sense of hearing she'd developed and the keen awareness of her sight against the sun. Her chest cavity burned the way it had so many moons ago, when the intoxicating toxin swam through her head. An overwhelming sense of peace surpassed her at that instant as she remembered a verse she had memorized under those hot, sunny, clear days.

_...And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her Seed; He shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise His heel. _She recalled the verse as Genesis 3:15, after creation had been brought forth by God's hand and Eve had been deceived by the serpent.

_With Me, all things are possible, child. You have the strength to move mountains through your faith. I am what makes you strong in the face of death, and I am what keeps your feet planted firmly in trouble. I am your El Shaddai, and you are my daughter._

The voice erupted from the quietness of her soul and she slowly opened her eyes. All trembling left her throat, and all queasiness left her abdomen. Reacher-Marianne-glared at the animal before her, ever watching, moving its coils as it crawled along the floor. She then looked over at Batman, who was still fighting his binds.

She swallowed and whispered over to him over her shoulder. "He took all my arrows, didn't he?"

He was quiet a moment. "Yes."

"My bow too, I assume."

He nodded and placed the rope between his teeth. "Uh-huh. Don't worry, Marianne. I'll get you out of this."

She chuckled and settled her gaze back on the creature. "God will get us out of this, Bruce." She pushed herself up and sat on her bottom, looking down and bringing her legs up under her and then tossing a look up at the animal.

It hissed at her, the snake's large, menacing eyes boring holes into her. She could almost feel the animal's plot rolling through the air as if on wheels, barreling into her head and stomach. She wiggled her binds and listened to the creaking of the floor beneath her. Both of the vigilante's stopped, and looked.

Azana, as the animal was called, began her attack. Her slithering began to speed up as she rocketed for them, lunging out her stocky body at them, mouth open and fang-like teeth bared. Reacher used the heel of her feet to push back and she slid her butt across the floor, Batman springing from a squatting positioning. He hit the wall and hollared, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. Then, rolling onto his stomach he used his knees to push himself up.

Reacher sat up and whipped her head to remove the hair from her face and stared at him. Azana was righteously angry now, desperate to complete her kill, and began to encircle Batman with her thick body. "Are you okay?"

"My shoulder," he breathed heavily, "I think it's dislocated. Otherwise I'm fine." He circled around to face the animal's head, where her mouth was opened halfway as if to strike. She narrowed her eyes and Batman lept over her body, her striking and lunging her upper half at him. Seeing the oncoming animal's fangs lunging at her, Reacher threw her top-half back to the floor where her head smacked against the floor with a crack.

Azana's midsection crashed down onto her stomach, at least one hundred pounds of extra weight slamming down into her abdomen and crushing her entrails. Reacher gasped, all air sucked from her lungs, her diaphragm aching for release. She tried to scream, the trembling beginning again as Azana reared her ugly head to glare at the intrusion. She hissed, and Reached pushed her knees into her body and tried lifting.

Reacher struggled against the reptile's immense strength, glancing from the corner of her mask to glimpse the animal. She bared her fangs again, at least the length of a green bean and coiled back. She was about to lunge when she shrieked instantly, and turned her body to focus on Batman.

Somehow he had escaped his binds, his one arm hanging loosely beside him, the other plucking a batarang from his belt. Azana looked to the ending half of her body where a protruding object stuck out from her skin, blood oozing on the floor around her slimy body. She then focused back on Reacher, apparently reasoning that Batman was not as interesting-or perhaps as tasty-as her previous guest.

Batman lept over Azana's body and grabbed Reacher's arm. Then, with his foot he kicked the snake's fleshy body, then she roared, lurching her body into the air around Reacher. He yanked her gasping body from the animal's weight, where she sat up and began to loose her binds. Azana hissed and shrieked, then lunged for them again.

Batman pushed his companion out of the way where he socked the creature in the jaw. Instantly she dropped to the floor and was motionless, mouth open and not closing. Reacher's brows rose when Batman rocketed over to her, kneeling and using the edge of another batarang to cut her free. When she was released, they both raced for the door and slammed it closed behind the unconcious, broken-jawed animal.

Reacher gripped the door-knob behind her and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and trying desperately to stop the rampaging of her heart, which felt as if it were a rocket preparing for take-off. She then opened her eyes and found Bruce clutching his shoulder. She rushed for him and helped him to the floor.

"How bad is it?"

He glared at her from the corner of his eye. "Do you want me to answer that question?"

She gave him a nervous smile. "You don't have to. Let me fee-" she touched the protruding area and he winced, gritting his teeth and slamming his cowl into the wall behind him. Reacher nodded and swallowed, then situated herself on the floor. "-oh. I see."

"Fix it." he demanded.

"Fix it?" she recalled, "Batman, I can't just-" she jumped when his hand gripped her wrist and he glared at her with desperate, deep eyes. He gritted his teeth and yanked her down to eye-level.

"_Fix it." _he rasped, "And do it fast. Ra's is going to make his next move, and I want to be there when he does."

Reacher nodded slowly. "Okay. I will." She helped him scoot his butt forward and positioned herself behind him. She counted to three and began to message his shoudlers. He moaned slightly and moved his neck with her motions. "What do you plan to do after this?" she whispered quietly, "I mean, what is going to happen to us? We're..._vigilante's. _Basically criminal's. How is life going to go on?"

He was quiet a moment and then replied. "Life always goes on. There's always a flipside to something-even us. We just have to find that flipsid-UGH!" his body curled forward as she jerked his shoulder back into place, it popping smoothly with her motions. She hustled to the front of him, where his face had turned a great shade of red, his teeth still gritted and breaths turning raspy and short.

She swallowed and bit her lower lip, looking to either side of them to check the status of their position. Then, inhaling a breath and closing her eyes, she took his jaw in her hands and placed her lips on his. Like lightening her stomach seized and her heart froze, praying that he wouldn't hate her for this. Slowly the tension left his shoulders and a glove hand gently tucked a curl behind her ear. She broke their kiss, blinking the envisioned anger in his eyes away and awaited for his response.

It wasn't what she expected at all. "You okay? You're not hurt, right?"

She shrunk back a few inches, taking her hands from his face and looked away. "I'm fine. Just sore." he got up and stood before her, Reacher fighting the blurring vision away from her eyes-he didn't care. This was just a game to him. Bruce-Batman-didn't love her like she loved him. She was about to push herself up when a hand extended in front of her.

She ignored it and turned from him, closing her eyes to the stinging tears and hustling for the staircase. "Reacher."

She began to tie her hair back with a binder she plucked from her wrist beneath her glove. "We have to find Crane. He'll take us to Ghul."

He stalked behind her, and she hustled down the stairs-rejection ever burning within her soul. She stopped short when she opened her eyes, the lifeless eyes staring blankly at her, the room screaming with the injustice staining the rug beneath their feet. Her eyes widened and she dropped to her knees, lunging for his body.

"Jonathan!" she cried, voice cracking. "Jonathan!" she grabbed his suit-coat with her fingers and pulled his limp body up to her. She scanned his clouding eyes and bit her lower lip, placing a hand behind his head and brining it to her shoulder. She rested her head against his and hid a sob by biting her lip. She closed her eyes and felt a tear slip behind her mask. "Ra's." she slowly rested his body back to the floor.

She got herself up off the floor and searched his suit jacket. Batman stood behind her, his cape enveloping his form as he stared down at the dead psychopathic man before him. She frantically searched for any piece of evidence, any trace of hope on this man. Startled when her fingers wrapped around a piece of paper, she yanked her fist from his jacket and unfolded the small square of paper, splattered with Jonathan's blood.

It was a movie title, one she remembered in her younger years. "_Planes Trains and Automobiles_?" she set the paper on her lap and looked up at him. "A Steve Martin comedy? What does that have to do with anything?"

Batman took the paper from her when she extended him to it. He flipped it over and she looked back to Jonathan. She frowned and began to remove his suit jacket, replacing him back to his laying position. Batman stepped around them and headed towards the window, where he looked out. Reacher rested the jacket overtop of Crane's death-striken face, and she rested his hands overtop the other on his abdomen. She then kissed her hand and touched his hands, then got up and approached him, hands on hips.

"1789." he pointed to a small number, written it splotched ink. Reacher had to wrinkle her brow and squint her eyes to make it out properly. She straightened and began to look around the room for any sort of weapon.

"So? What does a date have to do with anything?" she opened an abandoned crate left behind in the warehouse. She rummaged through it, awaiting his reply with only one ear, still erked by his uninterest in her femininity. She reached into the crate and removed a logbook, a broken calculator and a pen. She replaced them and got back up. "What happened in 1789 that is relevant?"

He thought a few moment. "The only thing detromental to world history was the invention of the flanged wheel, which changed the way locomotives moved on railways." she stared at him as if he'd sprouted wings and wrinkled her brow. "What? I studied American History at Princeton." She smiled halfway at him as a glimpse of Bruce Wayne broke through the facade.

"1789 can't be a certain time," he continued. He looked at her and then back at the window.

"It does have the sequence 7, 8, and 9," she shrugged. "That doesn't mean anything though, right?"

He shrugged a shoulder and then turned from the window, facing her again. "Ra's wants to take down the city from the heart, which is the Narrows. But how he is going to despense it evenly around the entire city is the question."

Reacher recalled the number and used her fingers to help her think. "7, 8, and 9," she shook her head, "simple numbers, two of them uneven, close to double-digits. And 1789 is an important date for railroad history..."

He shot a look at her. "What if 789 was a number? Like seven hundred eighty nine? It could number something."

She pointed a finger at him. "Good, good, I like that. Seven hundred eighty nine? What on Earth would Crane be doing with seven hundred eighty nine? Perhaps that's the number of gallon's he's going to use on the city?" Batman shook his head at this.

"No. Ra's wouldn't care about that. However much it takes it all he cares."

"_Planes Trains and Automobiles?_ Those are three types of transportation that Gotham uses, and trains are what were modified in 1789," she added, snapping her fingers, "is there that many trains in Gotham though?"

Batman gave her an 'iffy' look. "Not likely."

"You said it could number something," she walked passed him and pointed to the bridge across the Gotham River, and stared into the city, passed the Narrows and the Traps. "Maybe it could _be _a number of something. An address, an apartment number, a telephone number. Something."

As if like lightning, his eyes widened and he grabbed her wrist, yanking her from the warehouse and hustling down the stairs. Surprised and perplexed at his sudden objective. He reached for a receiver in his belt and pressed the button. She yanked her wrist from his hand and glared at him. "What? Did you figure it out?"

From the distance, the Tumbler roared from the shadows and came rocketing towards them, stopping abruptly and sinking into its shocks before them. He graced the last step and hurried around to the other side. The hatch opened and he lept up inside.

"Batman!" she declared,

"It's the train station. Platform 1, train 7, seat 89. It's a location. Ra's is putting the vaporizer on train 7 and running it through the city. That's how he's taking down the city."

He gaped at him, then smiled, running for the Tumbler. She spun around on her heel, threw herself into a backflip and balanced on the ledge of the hatch before dropping into the seat beside him. He stared at her and smirked, a spark of twinkle in his eyes.

"I suppose we have a train to catch," he chuckled darkly, flipping a couple of switching before shifting the massive vehicle into drive. She rolled her eyes and covered her one eye with a hand.

"You're so hysterical."

"I have a dry sense of humor."

"You're _sick_."


	23. Target

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

_**Reacher **_

Our ride towards the station was made in silence. Observed silence, but silence nonetheless. Not that the silence bothered me, but the aura of his intimidation scared the life out of me. As Batman or Bruce Wayne I didn't appreciate his somber quietness, but I'd learned to cope these last few days. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to ease the stress out of my body. I closed my eyes and envisioned that monstrous beast Azana bearing her fangs at me. My eyes popped wide open and I shivered. He must've noticed, because he commented on that.

"You okay?"

I replied. "Mhm. I guess," I diverted my eyes to the small window-like slit in the Tumbler. He drove on, pushing the speed limit higher and higher, dodging in and out of alleyways and into shadows. I bit my lower lip. "I suppose I should thank you."

He stared straight ahead. "What for?"

"Coming back for me."

Batman looked at me this time. "And what made you think I wouldn't?"

The question caught me off guard, but I countered impressively fast. "Well, it's just, you could've left and went after Crane," I looked away, and then situated the mask over my eyes properly. "or figured I could handle it myself. Think about it," I paused, "you didn't _have _to come and get me."

He stopped the Tumbler and threw it into park. I glanced out the window and looked for a street sign, but spotted the sign pointing up a flight of cement steps towards the train platform. I unbuckled the belt around my shoulders and flipped my hair out of the way, then pressed the familiar buttons on the dash to open the compartment. "I'm just glad you did." I added, grabbing a few Shurikens and stuffing them into my belt. "Who knows what Ra's would've done with me."

I did my best to try and not look at him, but it didn't exactly work. My eyes couldn't really stay _off _of Batman more than a few microseconds, so I found myself continually staring at his dark mask, hiding the features of his face which I'd dreamt of for so long. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and closed the compartment. I looked up at the entry hatch and was about to release it when he grabbed my wrist and looked at me fiercely. Fear struck my heart for a moment but then I searched his eyes and saw only Bruce Wayne and was lost.

"Listen to me," he said deeply, "I want you to know something, Marianne. Wherever you are, I will not be far behind you. You…" he paused for a moment, my heart hammering loudly in my chest, "…are the only thing I have. The closest thing to family." He looked me dead in the face. "And I will not lose my family again."

I countered. "Rachel—"

He seized my wrist even tighter. "Rachel isn't important right now. You are what is important, to me, Marty. I lost you once—" he dropped my wrist and opened the hatch. "And I can't afford to lose you again. Understand?"

I nodded.

He leapt up through the hatch and was gone, and I followed suit. Sweat had formed on my palms and goose-flesh dotted my entire body. I could've sworn I was a burning fire-ball of embarrassment right now, but I pushed that from my mind. Once on the ground, he locked the vehicle down and handed me a small transmitter.

"Use this to take down the vaporizer. It had a magnetic pulse emitter inside of it. Just enter the last four digits of your social and it will lock the vaporizer down. I'm going after Ra's." I accepted the transmitter and he turned on his heel, cape billowing out behind him. I was at a loss for words, in my mind at least, until my mouth blurted out the words I thought had been locked safely in the vault of my heart.

"I love you, Bruce Wayne." My eyes widened and I bit my lower lip. My face exploded with redness and heat rushed through my veins, and I stood frozen, my eyes locked on his form. He stopped and half-way glanced over his shoulder.

I swallowed the desert that had replaced my mouth and shook my head, awestruck at myself for my unguarded vocabulary. Slipping the transmitter under the collar of my uniform, I took off for the cement staircase. Tears burned at the corner of my eyes but I choked them back, clapping my hand over my mouth to stifle my sob.

"Marianne-wait!" Bruce Wayne broke through the shadow of Batman, calling after me. I shook my head and swung over the railing of the staircase and took them two at a time. Stopping at the platform, I looked right and left before shooting straight for a car and slipping onto it. I disappeared in the darkness of the passenger car and took off for the last car. I stopped only briefly to catch my breath and glance out the small window to see him stop, look both ways and head towards the engineer's station.

* * *

He watched her board the shadows of one of the passenger cars, then looked down from his perch to see her pursuer follow hastily up the steps, taking them gracefully three at a time. A smile painted onto his lips as the words echoed through-out his mind. So, he finally understood what she was feeling, after all these years, and knew what it felt like to be left-behind. He realized the sweetness of adoration and the sting of reality.

Once the Bat headed in the other direction, he flipped off his perch and graced the cement with ease. He sauntered towards the car she'd scurried onto like a frightened mouse and slicked back his hair with his hand. He had found the League someone worthy to bear his blood, someone who somewhat compared to the sweet angel he'd left beneath the earth. She would do well with him; much training was required of her, but she would do well for him.

He stepped onto the car and faced the darkness, then mocked it by entering through it with ease. At the end of the car he kicked open the door and found her, attention focused on the vaporizer, scrambling wildly to input a security code on a transmitter.

"We meet again, my sweet."

* * *

I'd located the vaporizer with no problems asked—it was in the middle of the room, right beside seat 89, locked and ready to go. It had taken only a few moments to locate the programming system, and I'd locked the emitter on it with a firm slap. Only when I was about to enter the last digits of my social number did the door swing open and disturb my peace.

"We meet again, my sweet."

Ra's smirked at me daringly and entered the room, hands clasped behind him, waltzing around the vaporizer. His aura was haughty and suffocating, and my stomach turned over in my abdomen, upper quadrants churning with fireballs. I fell back onto my bottom and looked up at him.

He reached to his belt and pulled out a talkie. Clicking the button he spoke into it, not taking his dark eyes from me. "Full-speed ahead, Crusaad. No manifestations?"

"_Negative." _The heavily accented voice clicked back in reply. I narrowed my eyes at him and lunged for the receiver, determined to finish this job, determined to end this madness. In an instant he grabbed my wrist just as I shot by him, jerking me back. He flung me to the floor where my head cracked soundly against the wood, and I shrieked. He spoke into the talkie again, looking to me and then to the emitter.

"Glorious. Proceed as planned." He replaced the talkie to his belt and sauntered over to me, then knelt beside my head and touched my jawline with his fingers, stroking my tenderly. I jerked my head away from him, scowling, the throbbing in my head increasing into my eye sockets. He gave me a charming half smile and took my hand. "Do not fear. I will not harm you. _Gotham_ cannot harm you any longer."

The train whistled, the brakes released and we lurched forward into a crawl.

A sarcastic chuckle erupted from my throat unexpectedly. "Wanna bet?" I grabbed his arm, pulled down and brought my knees up. As he tumbled over me I slammed my kneecaps into his abdomen and pushed him over my head. Ra's grunted, collided with the seats and I pushed myself up off the floor, whipping around to face him.

He blinked and shook his head to clear the mottle running rampidly through his brain and sprung from the top of one of the seats back into the main aisle. He rubbed his neck and chuckled at me, hand on the hilt of the samurai sword swinging at his side. I glanced at it, determined to remain unafraid, and he smiled at me.

"You cannot win, my love. The League prepares even in the darkest of times. Even the desperation for being desired is not strong enough to overcome it. _I _am the League."

I shook my head at him, my voice barely a whisper as I choked out the words. "It is not the desperation of being desired that fuels me," he poised himself to counter my statement. "it is the passion of seeing Gotham overcome the darkness that has overtaken us."

He glared at me. "Precisely why I am here!" he shouted.

"We will overcome you," I challenged him, standing tall at my normal height, determined to win this battle of voice. "There is a time and a season for everything, Ra's," I said calmly. "And your season has ended. Gotham can rise out of this darkness, it can shine again. Burning away the filth and corruption is easy," I added, "Igniting the fire is the challenge."

His anger rolled into a boil, and his nostrils flared with intense attempts to remain calm. Reaching for his sword he drew it with one hand focused it in front of him, then bent his head and shook it slightly. Then, he looked up at me with rageful eyes and growled evilly at me from the depths of his vocal chords. "Then you will burn with them!" He stepped forward, swung the sword to the left and then whirled around to bring it back towards me.

I dropped a shoulder backwards then pivoted with my right foot and brought my other around in a round-house. It barely missed his temple, for he ducked and popped back up. I checked my flank and then dodged his other attack by dropping to the floor. Catching myself with my wrists I shifted my weight around and raised a leg to kick his wrist.

I connected with it and he hollered, dropped the sword but then spun around to catch it with his other. He dived to attack me, but I pushed myself up and threw myself into a backflip. Now atop the vaporizer, I used the advantage of his back turned towards me by slamming my fist into his shoulders. He growled, dropped to his knees but impressively somersaulted back up to face me.

Bowless and without arrows I was forced to challenge him hand to hand. The train beneath us rapidly chugged along now, full speed and bulleting through Gotham's array of tracks without any barricades to stop it. I desperately longed for Batman to at my side, to overcome this madman, but I was alone. My heart frantically prayed for Divine intervention, but as of yet nothing happened.

He stood there, still, watching me with vengeful, disappointed eyes. In that moment of connecting with the windows of his soul I saw a hurt and young man within him, desperate to be released, to be one with his beloved again. Ra's al Ghul had lost someone near and dear to his heart, who took along all passion for life and freedom with her departure. I pitied him for a brief instant, loss in compassion, when he used it against me sprang into another attack.

This time he hopped up onto the vaporizer with me and swung the sword in front of me. I ducked and dodged, the tip waving in my face like a taunting time-bomb waiting to go off. I dropped a shoulder but misjudged my position and went tumbling off the machine when his hand lunged for me. Within seconds his strong gloved grip had me around the throat, fire erupted within my lungs and taking captive my intake of oxygen. Instinctively my hands clawed at his as he began to lift me up to stare up at me.

"Your weakness is in your eyes, doctor," he chortled at me darkly, "compassion is emitted only when we allow it pass through the windows of our soul. And compassion will be what kills you."

I squeezed my eyes closed and suddenly something whizzed by my ear. My eyes, which had started to blur, popped open and Ra's' body twitched. Instantly his grip weakened and I raised my legs to let the heel of my boot collide with his collarbone. He did not foresee this and screamed, releasing his iron grip and I dropped to the floor. I caught myself, pushing my palms against the floor and flinging myself into the air to land securely on my feet, away from him.

We both gave our attention to the side of the car, where the protruding silver bat-shaped throwing weapon stuck out haphazardly. Ra's glared and my heart rejoiced briefly, when I looked over my shoulder in a quick glance. Batman was there, perched in the window of the train-car, holding on tightly while his cape whipped wildly in the wind as the train continued on full-force. Ra's swore and gripped the sword again and Batman came crashing through the window and appeared beside me, popping up from a roll-in entry. On his back behind his cape I spotted a familiar strap round across his shoulders.

"Ah, so the bat joins us again," Ra's rumbled, "how wonderful to see you, Bruce. You will enjoy fighting for your city's survival." He chuckled and stared straight at Batman, a smirk evident on his face. "And your efforts will be unfruitful. You will lose both your city, your woman, and your life."

"Not if I can help it." Batman growled back. With that, he released a gunpowder caplet and the room exploded with the chalky substance. Ra's hollered a battle-cry, and I felt the vibrations against the wooden floor of the car as he landed off the vaporizer. A hand grabbed my and yanked me out of the smoke, my eyes watering. Batman's black figure pressed me close to him and the quiver with my bows and arrows pressed into my chest armor. As I slung it over my shoulder, he grabbed my shoulders and pulled me towards him. His lips tickled my ear as he whispered.

"Out the window. Go." He pressed the equipment into my hand. As my fingers wrapped around it I realized it was a grapnel gun. "Be fast and be quiet."

I shook my head. "No. Not without you-"

"Cowardice is something you were always susceptible to!" Ra's screamed. He came bursting forth from the cloud of chalky smoke, and Batman pushed me out of the way. I fell to the floor with a thunk and Ra's fist collided with Batman's jaw. He fell back into the wall and I balanced myself on my wrists and swung my legs around. Ra's' feet came out from beneath him and he hit the floor. I attacked him and pinned his hands to the floor with my knees. I slammed my knuckles square into his face and sneered at him.

"A fighter's spirit is contained and maintained," Ra's chuckled. "And you have lost both."

"I'm going to kill you!" I hissed at him. Without warning his feet came sailing up from behind me and his heel crashed down into my shoulders. With this I screamed and tumbled off of him, but righting myself and popping up into a crouching position. Reaching for one of my throwing arrows, I whipped it towards him where it missed his head by a few inches.

Batman came up from behind him and grabbed his neck with his arms, but he pulled Batman's body up over his head and crumpled over in half. Batman came flying towards me, but I had no time to counteract and he crashed right into me. All the air soared from my lungs and we collided with the wall. I moaned and slid down the wall, blackness dotting my vision. My head began to throb and tangy blood erupted onto my taste-buds.

Batman got up and struggled to position himself to counteract Ra's next attack. He stood, a hand to his side, and dodged Ra's throws. He ducked, dropped a shoulder and then attacked Ra's abdomen by plowing into him and knocking them both to the ground. I got up, put a hand to my pounding head, and struggled towards the vaporizer. As I leaned against it and knelt before the emitter, there was a hissing noise and then a small explosion.

I was knocked away from the machine, into a row of seats, my shoulders popping and my back protested. I screamed, rolled onto my stomach and struggled to push myself up. To my surprise, my wrist would not hold my weight—as a matter of fact; it wasn't working properly at all. I struggled to my feet as I heard a holler and then looked over my shoulder. Ra's was pushed against the wall, Batman's arm shoved tightly against his neck.

"The emitter, Reacher! NOW!" he barked hastily. I lunged for the machine but found green-neon numbers counting down beside my box of choice. I stared at it, confused, and shouted back to him as he struggled to keep Ra's contained.

"It's a timer!" I exclaimed. "We have five seconds!" I hollered. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I slammed the number pad with my thumb and listened to the clicks of the entry. It beeped back and me and produced a red text in neon. _System deactivated. _

I whirled around on my knees to give Batman the good news. My eyes widened as his body came flying across the train-car and colliding with the other wall across the room. I screamed as he failed to get up, and Ra's came stalking to me. Frantic, I grabbed the emitter and ripped it from the vaporizer. Throwing it down, I got up and slammed the heel of my foot into it and then grabbed an arrow. I faced the tip towards the main controls. Ra's eyes widened and he lunged for me.

"NO!" he shrieked. I slammed the arrow into the main controls and released it, dodging Ra's lunge. He went crashing into the vaporizer. Within seconds his body began to convulse, as the machine began to crackle and hiss and spark beneath him. His eyes widened, his skin paled and his joints locked. The echoing of his voice was captured by the electricity coursing through his body.

The machine shut down, darkened, and Ra's body dropped to the ground. His eyes were plastered open, his hair stick-straight out from his head and his body coarse. I swallowed and stepped back from his lifeless body, shocked at the play of events. A hand clapped onto my shoulder and pulled me back. I screamed and whirled around.

"Reacher!" Batman growled, "Let's get out of here."

I nodded. "Good idea." We both ran towards the door and I pulled it open. The wind whipped into our faces, tossing my hair around my face. The world was a hectic blur as the high speed of the train rocketed forward. Batman stumbled into my and I gripped the support rail for stability with my good hand. I helped him up and was about to fire the grapnel when a fire-hot explosion sent us both flying from the train-car.

The train hissed and creaked, and faded out of sight with Ra's body as Batman and I fell through the air. My vocal chords were frozen and no scream erupted from my lungs. My thoughts were on the splattered mass of whatever was left of my body sprawled out across the earth as the city around me began to swallow my existence. I closed my eyes and welcomed this free-fall, awaiting the life to be sucked out of my lungs when an arm wrapped around my waist, pulled me through the air and began to soar with control through the sky, fifty feet above the ground. My eyes opened and I looked to Batman.

"And you thought I was going to let us die." He chuckled deeply.

"I was entertaining the idea." I teased back, smiling.

He released the line and we soared onto the rooftop of a building. We hit the ground rather hard, but that was okay. My feet gave out beneath me and my shoulder hit the concrete, sending my body tumbling across the rooftop. I noticed that Batman was intertwined with my body liked a mixed chemical, unable to separate with me. The edge of his cape caught my cheek, tearing a small scrape across it, and the weight of his body suppressed my chest.

We stopped abruptly, his body beneath mine. I lay horizontally across his abdomen, the world spinning in my vision, my stomach a rolling ball of soup. I shook my head slightly and pushed myself up off of him, with one wrist pulled into my body. I moaned when a hand cupped my cheek and turned my face to the side.

"You okay?" he rasped.

I nodded. "I think my wrist is broken," I whispered. "But otherwise I'm good. You?"

He groaned and pushed himself up with his elbows. "I'm good. What was that?"

"I dunno," I seated myself next to him on the rooftop and began to slowly take the glove off my broken wrist. The sight of the blue, purple and black skin frightened me slightly, but I nodded slightly and pressed the side of my wrist to my chest.

"It was an explosion," he mused, standing and approaching the ledge of building. "The track. It's missing!" he declared. "Someone blew the rest of the track!"

"And the train?" I asked quietly, pain throbbing throughout my entire body. I thought of Ra's' lifeless body, engulfed in flames on the asphalt beneath the track. The smell of gunpowder, diesel fuel and melting metal perfumed the air and stung my senses. I got up and approached Batman to his left.

"Gone." He whispered. I put my good hand on his shoulder. "Along with the rest of Gotham's problems." He added.

He looked at me and turned to face me, then tossed me a half smile. "It all happened…so fast. It's over then?"

Batman looked down and wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me toward him. With his other hand he caressed my cheek and tamed my frazzled curls protruding from every direction from my scalp. My heart jumped and heat flared through my stomach and up my neck. Suddenly my mouth felt very dry.

"It's over." He lulled.

I shook my head and his hand fell from my face. "No, it isn't. Ular is still out there and all the inmates need to be accounted for. There's much to do yet." I looked to the smoldering remains of what was left of the train and shook my head, letting my eyes fall from the wreckage. "Gotham isn't free yet."

"Gotham has redemption," he countered, "it has redemption—for now. That is why we are here. For such a time with this." I looked over my shoulder and spotted the blatant outline of Bruce Wayne's face, exposed to the world. I turned fully to face him and he put his hands on my shoulders, gloves gone and skin exposed. A shudder ran up my spine and I blinked. "Gotham will always need saving. And we are the saviors which it needs."

I looked him in the eye and took my good hand, raising it to my face and removing the mask shadowing my eyes. I tossed it aside and tilted my head to the side, forcing tears from my face. "If being Gotham's redemption means losing you," I choked back my sob, "then I can't do it."

"Who said anything about losing me?" he chided, "Marty—you _can't _lose me. I'm here. Now. And that's not going to change. Whether you like it or not I am Batman, and Batman will be here as long as I'm alive. Nothing is going to change that."

"But I love you!" I exclaimed, my contained sob bursting forth from my lungs like a rapid animal. "And if loving you means offering you to the filth of Gotham-"

"-don't offer me then!" he shouted back at me, "Let me do this. Trust me. Let me _earn _this, Marty. Please."

I shook my head. "No. You have to say it. You have to tell me. Nothing you can do will ever earn my love, Bruce." I shook my curls and stared at him through blurry tears. "I haven't been able to stop loving you since we were kids."

He was quiet a moment. His eyes betrayed him, though, and I couldn't help but wonder if he would sacrifice Batman for just a brief moment and tell me that he loved me. If he didn't, then this was completely over. I swallowed thickly and let him collect his thoughts.

"And what do you want me to say?" he asked, rhetorically. "That Ra's is right? That I've lost everything that means anything to me?" his eyes frantically scanned mine, but I stood fast and looked down. "I love you, Marianne. I can't help but love you. Just when I thought I'd finally gotten away from you, Rachel, my parents' death-you came running back into my life like a whirlwind. There was Reacher playing with my emotions, and then she became you. Everything spiraled out of control."

I stepped by him. "I don't believe you." I picked up my mask and replaced it back onto my face. "A long time ago I thought that maybe there was a chance of you loving me, but, I'm not so sure now."

I pressed my wrist back into my chest and stepped up onto the ledge. I turned to face him and looked down to his naked face. "I'm just not sure anymore."

He rushed towards me, grabbed my good wrist and yanked me back down to him. "Why aren't you sure? I just told you I loved you. What more do you need, Marianne? What more do I have to do?" his voice broke, just slightly, and weakness protruded through his persona. My heart cracked, my throat constricted and

I smiled weakly. "Be consistent."

"Consistency?" he looked confused. "And what's 'being consistent' to you?"

I pushed him away and I laughed shakily at his comment. "What's consistency to any woman, Bruce? What was consistency to your mother? Marriage. A family. A career. That is consistency! Not running around masked vigilante's playing on each other's emotions!"

"Playing on each other's emotions? Does it look like I'm playing with you, Marianne!?" Tears flowed continuously from his eyes and down his face, something I had not seen from Bruce in a long time. I saw the hurt in his eyes, the desperation. For a moment I thought I saw my own emotions flash across his eyes. "Does it!?"

"I don't know!" I sobbed freely now, pushing him on his chest even harder with one hand. "I don't know, are you!? Are you playing with me? When I'm boring to you are you going to move on to the next item!? You tell me if you're playing with my emotions, Bruce! You have to figure it out yourself! You have to _show_ me!"

He quieted and then nodded. "Fine. I'll show you a thousand times if I have to." He stepped briskly towards me, wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me into the outline of his body. My heart panicked into a brass drum, pounding against my ribcage. My stomach fluttered like a mad-rabbit. I could hardly think straight. "I want to show you forever, Marty. I want to show you that I love you for the rest of my life." My brows rose and my eyes teared over. "Is that consistent enough for you?"

I chortled. "What exactly are you saying?" I whispered.

"I'm saying I want to marry you." He said seriously. "And I'm as serious as I can be."

"_Marry_ me? Since when?" I snorted. "Since when does Bruce Wayne decide to get married? You realize marriage is for life, right?" I made my point by crossing my good arm over my broken wrist. "You can't abandon me again. If you do I'll never take you back."

"That a promise?" he chuckled, touching his forehead to mine and touching my cheek with his hand. I looked down and nodded, allowing him to caress my cheek softly and play with my wildly bouncing curls.

"That's a promise."

_**End of Part One…**_


	24. Epilogue

**Epilouge—Ignite**

_Twelve Months Later_

"It seems a little loose to me," the honey-colored hair girl speculated, crunching her nose up and frowning. Her olive-colored eyes sparked with confusion as she held the bow tentatively at her side. "It doesn't feel right."

I chuckled and bent to stare up at the little boy staring at me patiently. "Keep trying, Travis. You can only get better if you keep on practicing." I ruffled his mud colored hair and tossed him a wink as I stood up. I glanced over at Charlie, a twelve-year-old girl with fiery red locks of bobbing curls, who released an arrow and followed-through with her aim as it smacked into a spray-painted target tacked to a sand-bag. A smile erupted from her face as she rushed to retrieve one of three arrows she possessed for "defensive practice".

"Let's check you're pull," I declared to the honey-colored girl. Josie, a sweet and collective fourteen-year-old Trap resident blinked and pulled back, anchoring her hand along her cheek-bone correctly. I stood behind her and checked the positioning of her shoulders. "Okay, you can rest now." She obeyed and handed the bow to me.

"It seems too loose now," she pouted, taking off the finger-tab she used to protect her fingers from the fletching of the arrow. She seemed to ignore the hot-pink arm-guard wrapped around her left arm tightly. "It was too tight last week, and now it's too loose."

I nodded and began fixing the bow's string strength. "You're getting stronger," I smiled at her as I adjusted the strength a few inches. "That's a good sign. You're beginning to know the bow now." I handed it back to her. "Try this, Josie."

She nodded and took aim, then released an arrow loosely into another home-made target. It was off, but then again she wasn't really aiming. She smiled up at me and tossed aside some of her dutch-boy styled hair. "It's better now. Thanks, Marianne!"

I waved her off. "Sure thing." I folded my arms across my chest and studied my three students. A small smile parted onto my lips as the chilling dawn air played on my tied-back curls. The light in the sky had brightened since six o'clock this morning, the time the four of us met for practice. I'd started this shortly after Jonathan's "fright night," to help give protection to the young fighters of the Traps and Narrows. An overwhelming large amount of fatalities had been that of children after the episode, so I vowed to start up my little fib that I'd told to Bruce all those years ago-teaching the children archery for protective reasons.

My phone buzzed in my pants pocket. I retrieved it and flipped the phone open. Pressing it to my ear, I covered the other one and stepped away from the practicing trio. "Marianne Lancer," I glanced at my shimmering silver engagement ring and warmth spread through me.

"_Where are you, Marianne?" _It was Rachel, panic stinging her voice. _"We have to be at the church at ten thirty!"_

I glanced at the clock on my phone, holding it away from my ear. My brow wrinkled and my face became red with embarrassment. "Holy goodness," I muttered, sprinting towards my bag and purse, "I'm coming, I'm coming! Meet me at the church in ten minutes, and make sure he doesn't see the dress." I slapped the phone shut and turned to Josie. "Practice is over, guys. Pack up and head to Leslie's. She'll have your clothes prepared for you." I dodged them, wiggled my finger sin a good-bye wave, and hustled towards my black Lancer.

As promised, Rachel and Leslie helped me into my outfit an hour later. They'd seen to every detail which you could possibly imagine, from the placement of my face-framing curls to—get this—my toenails! Leslie began the painstaking promise to lacing up the back of my gown, my hands trembling as I let them smooth over the fine workings of my dress. Once Leslie tied off the bow in the back, I turned around to face the mirror. Rachel and Leslie backed away slowly. Tears brimmed my eyes, but I forced them back.

It was an Anita Graham, done in lace with a v-neckline and a sheath design. It was no waist, princess seams. With a chapel train and capped sleeves, it was picturesque to everything I'd always envisioned myself wearing at my wedding. It was eggshell white with a cream yellow bow in the back, matched with cream-colored Jimmy Chu's. Rachel had done my hair in an intricate design. It was pulled into a half-ponytail, with a bunch of my hair piled up into a bun on the crown of my head. My face-framing curls had been tamed with gel and mousse, and the cream-colored flower pins matched with pearls were placed delicately around the bun. I reached up to touch one of my curls, half afraid that they would break off they looked so unreal. I swallowed a horribly large frog in my throat and turned to them.

"Oh guys," I croaked, "you're amazing." I lunged for Leslie, roughly wrapped my arms around her and pulled her towards me possessively. I sniveled to keep myself from sobbing, staring vacantly into open space as Leslie shushed me with reassuring words. She then pushed me away graciously and I attacked Rachel next, overcome with emotion.

A soft rap on the door sounded. We scrambled and I hustled behind the changing screen, until a reassuringly panicked voice struck the air as my mother barreled through the door. I popped out from behind the screen and she seized me in a possessive, hungry hug. "Marty."

"Hi mom." I said robotically. My inner being had been seized by a monster, one which scared me beyond salvation. My stomach was a churning volcano, seemingly able to erupt with fiery passion at every surprise. My mother stepped back from me, still holding my shoulders, staring at me tears sweeping down her face.

"I knew you'd be a wreck," she chuckled. "It's okay. Everything's okay." I attacked her again, unwilling to let her go as I rested my chin on her shoulder. Her ruby-red gown graced the floor as she patted my back gently, stroking me and shushing me just as Leslie had. I closed my eyes and she whispered into my ear. "It is okay, Marianne. He loves you. So much. You wouldn't be doing this if you didn't know that."

I nodded coarsely. "I know." I whispered.

Another tap reached the door, and I perked up. My mother swirled around, protecting me from unknowing eyes, until a sharply dressed gentlemen entered into my preparation harem. We all relaxed as Alfred approached me gracefully, a long, thin black box with a small white one perched atop in his hands. My mother stepped aside and I met him, letting my dress fall around my ankles and to the ground once again. I cupped my hands in front of me and smiled at him sheepishly. "Alfred."

"Miss Lancer," he said shakily. Without warning I wrapped my arms around him, the butler outstretching his full hand from us and then wrapped his other free one around my shoulders and squeezed. He cleared his throat and stepped back a little. "Not to be rude, Miss, but the tuxedo is indeed rented."

A breathy chuckle escaped my lips. "Sorry. What are you doing back here? Aren't you supposed to be at the altar?"

He nodded. "I am," he concluded. He extended the boxes towards me. I have instructions to give these to you right away," I accepted them and he planted a grandfatherly kiss on my forehead and touched my chin as if to brighten my smile. "Fly high, little bird."

I tipped my head to the side and nodded. "I will. Thank you." I squeezed his hand and he exited as abruptly and graciously as he'd entered. I opened the long skinny box and almost dropped it as the contents blared at me.

Sparkling fresh-water pearls shimmered up at me from their peaceful resting place on expensive satin. I took a half step back, my mother and Rachel flocking to stabilize me. My breath escaped me and left my lungs burning as if drenched in sulfur. A sob escaped me and a tear trickled down my cheek as much as I hated it to. A folded note, on heavy card-paper, tied with a cream-colored bow rested gently beneath the string of necklace. I grabbed it with shaky fingers and unwrapped it.

"_**For the bride to be," **_it read, the calligraphy faded and demanding respect,_** "may you bless my son as much as he's blessed me." –Martha Wayne. **_

"Oh God," I breathed. Rachel had to take the box from me I was shaking so. She began to remove the necklace and opened the white box, finding two matching earrings. I shook my head in dismissal as she approached me carefully. "I—I can't wear these,"

Rachel nodded. "Yes, you can. She would've wanted you to."

She clasped the necklace into place and Leslie and my mother helped me fasten the earrings securely in place. I stared at the door, which had opened wide as the ushers informed me it was time to start.

Rachel handed me my bouquet of lilies and they exited the room, giving me a moment. I touched the petals with careful hands and let their coolness and fragrance pull into a place called peace. I inhaled when something sharp and cold struck my finger. I pulled it back and parted the flowers to find a small, hand-crafted, stainless batarang securely bedded inside. My heart skipped and I pulled it out, finding a small message engraved in the back in startling calligraphy.

"_**You have been mine, since the moment you were born; and you will always be mine." –B. **_

I fingered the edges of the wings and pulled it out. I set the bouquet down carefully and pulled up the hem of my dress. Carefully I slid the batarang alongside my skin, it secured by the black and yellow garter wrapped snugly around my upper thigh. A half smile pulled onto my lips as I situated my gown around my ankles again.

"He was right," the voice chuckled deeply, "you are breathtaking." the voice pierced the air.

I jerked up to attention and squealed, dropping the lilies back to the seat where I'd placed them before. My eyes widened and I hurried towards the screen when a hand seized my wrist and twisted my arm back, so I turned to face him. I blushed madly and shook my head, fighting for release. "Bruce! You're not supposed to be back here!" I hissed.

He laughed and placed a finger on my lips to silence me. "Shh. It'll be our secret." He touched his forehead with mine and played with a curl around my face with his finger. "I couldn't wait."

"You should've," I whined innocently, "You spoiled the surprise."

He rumbled a low sounding growl. "I don't need any more surprises." He was about to kiss me when yet another soft knock erupted on the door. I bounced to attention and pushed Bruce away from me. "You'd better hope that's not my father." I glared playfully at him. His laughter was evident as the door opened.

"Miss Lancer," the usher peeked his head into the room and I grabbed my bouquet. Startled, he quirked a brow, "Mr. Wayne?" Brushing aside my curls to appear flustered I stared at him in waiting. "It's time to begin. Half of Gotham is waiting for you."

A chuckle escaped me and I gathered the train up in my arm. I nodded and brushed passed Bruce, who followed suit, and hustled to the French doors which were opening. Bruce took hold of my hand and led me to the door, where he stopped and kissed my knuckles before releasing and slipping through the doors. I laughed and tossed a look over my shoulder and winked at the usher.

"We know," I tucked some hair behind my ear and straightened my train behind me.

"_I _know."

* * *

Darkness had swallowed the city as the stars began to pinprick the sky, the sun long-since replaced by its counterpart of night. A chilling breeze swept the skyline, the buildings slowly falling into order as lights illuminated small windows along the air. I sat on a deep-green air conditioning unit, my hair pulled back into a simple half-ponytail, my batarang stuck securely in the mess of bun gathered at the grown of my head. Pearls and gems long since removed, I'd opted for a simple hairstyle and my mask.

I smoothed my hand over the fabric of my dress. It was a lace chapel train dress with a v-neckline, colored black with a sheath/column design. Overall, I felt like something out of Alice in Wonderland than Gotham City, but I didn't mind. I rested my elbow on my knee, plopped my chin in my hand and set my single red rose on the unit beside me. I stared off into the vast array of blackness speckled with fresh light and rolled my eyes to the sky, tossing up a prayer.

"He's fifteen minutes late," the man behind me replied. He tossed his Bible on the unit behind me and straightened his suit. "I have another meeting scheduled at ten."

"He'll be here." I muttered, closing my eyes an exhaling. I pushed up the end of my glove and checked my watch. 9:35. I rose up off the unit and smoothed my dress. The man blinked and stepped away from me as if I had turned into a monster. "What? I'm not a monster," I said deeply to him.

"Not you," he said quietly, pulling at the collar of his suit. He lifted a finger and pointed behind me, then looked to heaven and lunged for his Bible. I whirled around and batted the hair away from my face and breathed a sigh of relief. There he was, perched on the ledge of the Gotham Claire, glaring at the reverend behind me. I crossed my arms and watched him as he stepped off the ledge and approached us, his cape catching the wind and snapping to attention.

"You're late." I uttered to him as I retrieved the rose from the unit. He looked me over carefully and I tossed some of my hair over my shoulder and relaxed my muscles, facing the reverend who anxiously leafed through the pages of his Bible. I exhaled and looked up at him. "What are you staring at?"

He reached up behind my head and plucked something from my hair. "Creative." He turned it over in his fingers and then handed it to me. I smiled up at him, unable to tear my gaze off his sparkling, dark eyes. The reverend cleared his throat and began. I closed my eyes, Batman squared his shoulders, and the reverend spoke:

"We are gathered here today, in the sight of God…." His words drifted as I stole at a glance at my dark groom, who stood tall and secure within his mask. He did well to hold a cold, intimidating aura around him while he stood there, behind his identity…behind Batman. There was no one around to see our ceremony, no one to judge or threaten. My only witness was God and this preacher, and the man giving me away was with me everywhere and every moment of every second of the day. His words came back into play and I snapped to attention.

"…knowing this, I ask of you this question: Do you," he stole a glance to Batman, who glared at him knowingly, "choose to marry this woman on this day; to speak the words that will join you with her as your wife, for all the days of your life? If so, please answer 'I do'."

I held the rose perfectly upright and glanced down at it slipped the batarang between the black satin tied around the stem, careful to miss the thorns. I blinked, swallowed and let my gaze follow his outstretched, gloved hand. I took my own hand and slipped it into his and turned to face him. He took his other and tipped my chin up, eyes still dark but searching my own with intense certainty and passion. His rasp was a barely audible growl:

"I do."

I forced the wetness of my salty tears back into my eyes, unwilling to let them drip behind my mask and spoil my strength. I swallowed thickly and gave one ear of attention to the minister who continued on. "Do you," he gestured towards me with his head, "choose to marry this man on this day; to speak the words that will join you with him as your husband, for all the days of your life? If so, please answer 'I do'."

Nodding, I squeezed his hand and interlaced our thickly gloved finger together. My heart thudded strongly within my chest and my stomach rolled for the second time today, and I swore I felt my legs give out underneath me. The world seemed hazy, and the preacher seemed invisible, just me, Batman, and God Almighty. I closed my eyes and inhaled. "I…do. I do."

A barely evident smile appeared on his face.

The preacher exhaled and began to speak again. "Then, if you would, please turn to face one another and join hands as you each take your marital vows…" We obeyed, and I stepped closer to him, my hands resting gently in his own. I was careful not to jostle my rose too much, but then again the trembling in my hands made it even more difficult to stay focused. The minister rambled on until it came time for the exchange. "…what tokens of love and respect do you offer each other?"

Releasing one hand, Batman reached into his every-increasing belt and flipped open a compartment. I suppressed a giggle as he fished out our tokens, and presented them to the minister. Startled, the man took them and held them quaintly in his hand, sweat beading on his brow. I bit my lower lip and smiled. "Well, then…" he mumbled, "The wedding ring is the outward sign of an inward and spiritual grace, signifying to all the union of this man and this woman in holy matrimony. It was Saint Augustine who said, 'The nature of God is like a circle whose center is everywhere and circumference is nowhere.' May the rings that you presented symbolize the nature of God in your lives, and as often as either of you see them, may you be reminded of this moment and the endless love you have promised." He gave a sharp glance to Batman and was quiet, then looked at our hands, then to me. I raised my brows and Batman asked the next question.

"What is the problem?" he asked deeply.

The minister tossed a glance up to the starry sky. The wind picked up an instant and shuffled my hair, and played at the train of my dress. I shivered slightly and the minister spoke shakily. "Well, you see, sir, there's a problem."

"And what is that?" he growled darkly.

"Ah," he cleared his throat, gesturing to our hands, "um, your hands…you need to remove your gloves to place the rings, if that's not a problem."

Batman grunted and rolled his eyes. "I suppose that's up to you if that's a problem," he removed the glove of his left hand and did mine also. "I have a feeling you're not going to ID us anytime soon, reverend."

The man puffed out a breath of nervous air and I nudged Batman with my hand and shook my head warningly. The minister continued after we'd re-joined our bare hands. "Batman, as you present this woman with her wedding ring and pledge your love and your life to her, will you please repeat after me: 'Reacher, I give you this ring as a symbol of my love. With all that I am, and all that I have, I promise to love and honor you always. With this ring, I thee wed myself unto you eternally.'"

He nodded and his cape snapped the wind again. I lifted my hand unto him and watched with blurry vision as he started the simple silver band over my first knuckle. Then, he looked down to me and spoke quietly, darkly and deeply into the night wind. "Reacher, my love, my _life_; I give you this ring as a symbol of my undying adoration unto you. With all that I am, and all that I have, I promise to love and honor you always. With this ring, I thee wed myself unto you eternally, in the presence of God."

The ring slipped into place on my finger, snugly holding fast unto his promise.

The minister, now flipping a page in his Bible, turned to me and began the quote again. "Reacher, as you present this man with his wedding ring and pledge your love and your life to him, will you please repeat after me…" his words ran together unpassionately and without feeling until he was quiet. I jerked to attention when he cleared his throat.

"Forgive me," I whispered and looked up into the eyes of my counterpart, "Batman, my strength and my love, I give you this ring as a never-ending symbol of my undying adoration and passion unto you. With all that I am, and with all that I have, I vow to love and honor you always in the presence of darkness or light. With this ring, I thee wed myself unto you eternally, in the presence of God our Savior." The ring slipped over the last of his knuckle and into place on his finger. A tear escaped my eye and slid down the inside of my mask.

A sniffling sounded on the wind and we both shot the minister a look. Startled, he squeaked and collected himself. Returning to his notes, he continued on, his voice shaky on the breeze. "Batman and Reacher, inasmuch as you have consented to be joined together in the holy state of matrimony, and having pledged and sealed your vows by the giving and receiving of rings in the presence of both God and whatever company this is, it is with great pleasure that I now pronounce you husband and wife. What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder." He looked between us and then slapped the Bible closed.

"Congratulations," he said nervously, pulling at his collar, "You may kiss the bride,"

We turned back to one another and Batman pulled me towards him carefully. I collided gently with his kevlared chest and the rose fell from my grasp. I was lost as he place a hand on my cheek and then let his fingers graze over my neck. I let my head fall back under his kiss as his breath penetrated my skin, sending a swirling sense of passion and desire through my veins. For a brief second his tongue traced my lower lip but then he pulled back slowly. My breath became rapid and quiet as I scanned his eyes.

"And may I present Mr….ah well, um….Batman and Reacher."

Our laughter struck the wind and our love ignited the air around Gotham City.

**END OF PART I…**


	25. The Wrap-Up

**My Readers,**

Can I believe_ Ignite_ is actually finished? Wowza! Let me just say, it's been an amazing journey, writing Bruce and Marianne's love story…and Reacher? Let me just say, it was a privilege—and an honor—to give Batman a little friendly competition. I'm so excited for all the reviews—nearly 100! Please, keep them coming, and even if you've read the story a few times before and want to review, don't worry-I'm a review "slut". They don't bother me at all.

With the first installment complete with the matrimony of the Bat and Archer, the billionaire and the invisible rose, it's time for me to say good-bye. But, not for long, because I'm working on the next installment…_Burn the Cards_! I'm not sharing ANY details here, just a conclusion.

Big thanks to my readers and the internet….without it, I'd be nowhere! Also, shout out to Nolan and his book _Batman Begins the Screenplay_, because I'd be lost without it! Lots of research went into this piece, and I hope that you all enjoyed it.

And, to finish: I emailed the editor of DC Comics and told him I had a Batman alternate universe piece that he might be interested in….so I might be publishing this piece! EEK! I pray that it is good-enough for the top-dogs, and I ask that you do the same.

Thanks for being loyal, guys and gals, and hopefully ya'll tune into the next piece! Reacher and Batman will indeed have their hands full (in more ways than one!).

Signed, in Gotham's Justice,

_**Knightress**_


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